Resurrection Bluff
by Lila Leigh
Summary: Has Slim Sherman solved the mystery of Jess Harper's disappearance? Or have his rash actions guaranteed his best friend's death? Story has 47 chapters plus Notes, but will be published in 5 parts.
1. Chapter 1

**Resurrection Bluff by ****LilaLee**

Many thanks to Gail G, beta extraordinaire, for her patience and insightful comments to make this a better tale! And to my pards who kept poking at me to finish, finish, finish. No profit to be had, just fun and an effort to keep Jess Harper and Slim Sherman riding new trails. Any mistakes are mine alone. Send comments and feedback if you enjoy this story, or especially if you don't. Please take time to read the End Notes for some explanation and a couple surprises. Thanks. LL

**Bluff:**

1.) An attempt to deceive someone into believing one can or will do something  
2.) Try to deceive someone as to one's abilities or intentions  
3.) In a card game, bet heavily on a weak hand in order to deceive opponents  
4.) Direct in speech or behavior  
5.) A steep cliff, bank or promontory

**Chapter 1 Cheyenne Holiday**

The afternoon stage rolled into Cheyenne in a cloud of churning grey dust, with Slim Sherman riding shotgun and Jess Harper handling the reins. Jess pulled to a stop in front of the Plains Hotel, its sign proclaiming it _The Finest Establishment in Wyoming Territory._

Pulling out Jess's pocket watch, Slim declared, "Only thirty-five minutes late. We made good time from Newman's Crossing."

"Just my superior driving skills. Told ya to put your trust in a red-blooded all-American boy like me," laughed Jess. "You can drive home, Boss. I'll take a breather like you did on the way here."

"Flip ya for it! But we're using _my_ dollar this time." Slim's dimples deepened as he laughed at Jess's innocent expression and "_Who, me?_" shrug. It was an old joke; Jess hauled out his two-headed silver dollar every time they made a bet.

He swung to the ground while Jess loosened the straps holding the passengers' baggage in place on top of the coach. Opening the stage door with a flourish, Slim announced, "This is our destination, folks. If you're traveling further than Cheyenne, you need to see the Overland Stage agent, Mr. Hutchins. The office is around the corner to the right." He indicated the direction with a nod of his head and wave of one long arm.

Jess whistled softly and Slim glanced up to see him ready to toss down the luggage. Slim lined up the assorted bags, boxes, suitcases and wooden crates along the boardwalk for the passengers to collect. As soon as he had caught the last one, a particularly heavy valise he suspected Jess of heaving harder than necessary, Slim moved to the front of the coach and met Jess as he jumped down.

"Here's your watch, Jess. Thanks." Slim held out his partner's silver cased watch, the chain dangling between his fingers.

"Got my hands full right now, Slim. Hold onto it a while longer, will ya? Saves you askin' me the time ever' five minutes."

"Alright," Slim answered, "I'm not so sure you can tell time anyhow," he teased. Slim tucked the watch into his vest pocket with a grin.

"That's the kinda respect I get after makin' up nearly two hours on the road?" Jess demanded.

It was Slim's turn to shrug, knowing Jess expected nothing less.

Jess jerked his head toward the open hotel doors, "Leave your saddlebags, Pard, and I'll check us into the _'Finest Establishment in Wyoming Territory'_ when I get the team settled with Wild Bill down at the livery."

"Don't put yerself out on my account, Harper,"

Blue eyes twinkling, Jess quickly retorted, "Watch yerself, Sherman, or I'll make ya bed down with the horses an' listen to Wild Bill snore all night."

Both men were in high spirits at this unexpected chance to take in the sights of Cheyenne.

Slim grinned widely and got back to business, "Alright, Jess. I'll take the strong box and mail around to Mr. Hutchins and get all the paperwork taken care of. Meet you in the hotel soon as I'm finished. I'm dry as powder. . . ."

"And I'm hungry enough to eat the ears off a runnin' mule. _You_ can buy _me_ the biggest steak in town." Jess interrupted, dusting off his Stetson on equally grimy jeans.

"Deal! But _you_ buy the first beer."

Jess lightly slapped Slim's taut stomach with the back of his hand and Slim responded with an exaggerated flinch. Shouldering the strongbox, Slim took the mailbag and his rifle and strode quickly around the corner. He paused at the edge of the street to turn his face into the wind to study the freshening north-west breeze. Dust devils were already swirling, rattling signs and shutters, lifting grit to cover every surface.

Those roiling thunderheads carried the threat of rain. He and Jess had kept a wary eye out behind them as they chased toward Cheyenne and Slim was happy they had beaten the squall. His nostrils flared as he caught the moist, fresh scent of the approaching storm. Slim Sherman had absolutely no desire to ride the top of a rocking, swaying coach as Jess fought a wild-eyed team while the safety and welfare of the customers was their responsibility.

**Chapter 2 Jess Harper, Bellboy**

Jess latched the coach's passenger door and then noticed a young lady struggling to lift two large carpetbags.

"Miss, let me carry those into the hotel for you."

"Oh, would you, please? I'm afraid they are more than I can handle."

"No problem, miss. Happy to oblige." Jess easily lifted a bag in each hand, "All a part of Overland's service, ma'am, makin' sure our passengers are well taken care of."

The young woman had been on the stage, but there had been a full load of passengers and Jess had not really gotten a good look at her. He saw now that was a serious oversight. He flashed a crooked grin and nodded for her to precede him into the hotel. Jess snickered to himself how upset Slim was going to be after he told him, embellished of course, of how he had come to the aid of this pretty, no, make that beautiful, lady.

Jess carried her bags inside and set them down near the registration desk. He tipped his hat and turned to leave.

"Sir, could you possibly carry my bags upstairs? The hotel has no boy to do it, and I know I will never get them up all those steps myself."

The young lady held out a small hand clad in a lacy glove, and dropping her head to flash big brown eyes, said, "We haven't been introduced. My name is Angel Duvall and you are . . . ?"

"Uh, my name's Harper, ma'am, Jess Harper. I'd be happy to carry those heavy satchels to your room. Er, upstairs, ma'am," he stammered, feeling the heat rise in his neck and flush across his face as she gave him the full effect of her fluttering lashes and dimpled smile. Her eyes were such a clear honey brown Jess found himself getting lost in their depths.

He waited as she signed the register and was handed a key. She smiled at him again over her shoulder and walked slowly up the stairs, Jess trailing her with the two bags.

Miss Duvall walked down the hall to room 214 and bent to put the key into the lock. The key refused to go in, even though she tried twice more. Finally, she turned to Jess, standing patiently holding her luggage and asked, "Would you try, Sir? I can't seem to get the door open."

Things were improving by the minute. _'By the time I tell Slim about pretty little Miss Angel Duvall, she's gonna have hair as black and shiny as a raven's wing, eyes as soft as a new-born calf, lips as luscious as the first spring berries, ivory white skin - except for the rosy pink blush on her cheeks whenever she glances at me, of course, and her perfume is gonna be heady as that field a wildflowers out by Baxter's Ridge.' _

His face wreathed in smiles, Jess mused, '_And I've gotta remember to torment 'im about seein' that shapely ankle as she climbed the steps.'_

Jess set down the bags and took the key. He tried to push it into the lock, but the key refused to go. Shaking his head, he got down on one knee to see better.

Abruptly there was a perfumed handkerchief held over his face and the door was jerked open from the inside. Jess raised a hand to swat at the cloth, but as he inhaled, he realized the scent wasn't perfume at all. He collapsed over the threshold, and felt himself being dragged into the room as the door closed behind him.

Jess Harper was afraid. Oh, he'd been scared before, but the kind of scared that heightened his senses and made his adrenalin pump; the kind which made him more aware, faster on the draw, and sharpened his reflexes.

But not this kind of terror.

He couldn't move so much as an eyelash. Jess knew he lay sprawled on a bed where rough hands had laid him. He could feel hands moving his arms and legs; could feel them removing his boots, his gloves. They had taken his gun and rig, his vest, his belt. Turning him from side to side and leaving him in whatever position they pleased.

Jess could hear, but could do nothing to defend himself. Voices discussed what they were going to do to and with him. His mind felt sluggish, slow. Whatever had been done to him as he toppled into the hotel room had crippled his mind and paralyzed his limbs.

Jess felt hands on him again, loosening his bandana, unbuttoning his shirt. He forced his eyes open a slit and saw a woman's face bending over him before they dropped shut again. She jerked back as soon as she saw his eyes open and began speaking rapidly in a language foreign to him; Jess didn't understand a single word.

Her agitation was clear, though, and brought more hands to turn him, rolling him onto his stomach. Jess knew his shirt had been removed, the air chill on his skin. He felt cloth pulled onto first one arm and then the other. More touching, more voices and pulling, tightening, straightening until both arms were pinned close to his sides.

Jess felt himself turned onto his back and hands were winding something around his legs. He moaned and immediately felt finger tips brush his lips as a woman's soft voice murmured "Shh. It's all right, shh. . . shh."

Listening. . . listening, trying to understand. Hands were touching him again.

Something was laid over his eyes, his head lifted and lowered. Something hard forced between his lips, pushed into his mouth and tied in place.

A knock at the door, and it was quickly opened and shut. "Sherman is downstairs talking to the clerk. I bet he'll be up here any minute."

The announcement caused a commotion and voices rising over each other.

"Hurry! Get it open. Get him inside."

"It's a tight fit, but it works."

"You take his things and head to your room. You know what to do first?"

"Good. We'll meet at the second crossroads. And make sure you're not followed."

Now Jess was not just afraid, panic was stalking him, preying at the edges of his mind. Who had him? Why? And what were they going to do to Slim?

Then, the sickly sweet perfume again and a woman's voice cautioning whoever held the cloth, "Not too much, too much will kill him!" as his awareness fled.

**Chapter 3 Angel Duvall**

His paperwork finished, Slim hurried back around the corner. He was anxious to wash off the trail dust and head to a saloon for that first drink. He could almost taste the cold beer sliding down his dry parched throat. Seeing the coach and team still in front of the hotel startled him: It wasn't like Jess to let the horses go untended—people maybe, but never the animals.

Slim looked through the stage and discovered both his and Jess's saddlebags flung over the side of the driver's box. There was no sign of Jess anywhere, so Slim took the saddlebags and walked into the Plains Hotel's showy lobby.

He recognized the officious desk clerk from other trips to Cheyenne. "Mr. Mortimer, has Jess Harper gotten us a room for the night?"

"Mr. Sherman, so nice to see you again. No, Mr. Harper has not obtained a room for either of you," Henry Mortimer replied primly.

"Have you seen him?" Slim inquired patiently.

Looking over his spectacles, and down his long nose at the rancher's question, Henry answered, "Earlier, a young lady asked him to carry her bags up to her room, but I haven't seen him since."

"A young lady, huh?"

"Yes sir. That shiftless boy who usually carries luggage for guests never showed up today and the young lady asked Mr. Harper to carry them up for her."

"But he never came back and got a room for the two of us?" A frown creased Slim's brow, his smile strained.

Hesitantly, the clerk responded, wondering at Sherman's change of tone. "I did not actually watch him carry the bags upstairs or notice if he came back down. There was quite a rush, what with the stage arriving and all."

Shaking his head ruefully, Slim asked, "Do you have any rooms for the night?"

"Yes, certainly, Mr. Sherman. Please sign here. Room 209 has two beds and the sheets are fresh. I'll have water sent up immediately." Mortimer was suddenly much more accommodating, anxious to please a new guest.

"What's the young lady's room number? The one Jess carried the bags for."

Folding his hands over the registration ledger, Henry Mortimer showed off his excellent memory, "She had reservations for a room in the back where it would be quieter. Miss Angel Duvall. Room 214. At the end of the hall, on the right."

"Thank you, and if Jess. . . er. . . Mr. Harper, shows up, tell him I've already gotten us a room." Slim took the key and climbed the stairs to the second floor. He opened the door to room 209, deposited the saddlebags on one of the beds and backed out into the hall.

Slim Sherman was less impulsive than his partner, and he was more than a little peeved Jess was being so irresponsible. Slim was tired, hungry and thirsty, and he knew Jess had to be; he had wrestled a feisty four-up team for hours.

'_A pretty girl and Jess followed her off to who-knows-where. Just you wait. . . Jess Harper's gonna get a piece of my mind.'_ But then Slim shook his head and a genuine smile lit his face. _'A pretty girl, huh? And, of course, Jess knows all about "_wimmen_".'_ What they saw in Jess, Slim couldn't fathom, but he knew those big blue eyes and roguish grin got Jess a lot of leeway with most girls.

Well, Jess could curb his flirting long enough to get the team taken care of and both of them find something to eat.

Slim knocked at the door of room 214. He heard scraping sounds, someone moving around. He knocked again, harder.

Finally, a woman's voice called through the door, "What is it?"

"Ma'am, I'm lookin' for Jess Harper. The desk clerk said he carried your bags to your room."

The door opened a crack, and a young woman, hair tousled, said sleepily, "I was resting. The long journey in the heat and dust has completely tired me out."

"Miss, I _am_ sorry to disturb you, but can you answer a couple of questions for me, please?" Slim doffed his hat and gave her his most charming smile, pleased when the door opened a little wider.

"You're looking for someone?" she asked, prettily covering a yawn with her hand.

"Jess Harper, ma'am. The desk clerk said he carried your luggage to your room," Slim explained again. "Did Jess say where he was going after he left here?"

"Uh, no. . . no, he carried my bag up the stairs. I thanked him and he left."

As she talked, she pushed at the dark strands of hair curling around her face, but she opened the door wider and Slim could see a large steamer trunk with clothes spilling out of an open valise atop it. He took a step into the room and let his eyes quickly rove over the small chamber. The bed was rumpled and ladies garments were scattered on the bed and chair. His eyes narrowed at the pieces stacked beside the trunk, but he looked away and quickly smiled again at the girl holding the door.

"Jess was supposed to meet me but he hasn't shown up. The clerk said Jess carried luggage upstairs for a beautiful young lady so I thought he might still be here."

"Why, Mr. Sherman, are you trying to turn my head?" She dimpled at him and demurely fluttered her lashes.

"Oh, no, ma'am." Slim stammered.

'_I just know Jess,'_ thought Slim wryly, '_And after he got a good look at you, his supper and my beer would have been the furthest thing from his mind.'_

Blushing, Slim continued, "I hope you have a pleasant stay in Cheyenne. Are you settling here, Miss . . . ? I'm sorry, I didn't get your name."

She coquettishly glanced up at the flustered young man and smiled slightly, "I'm Angel Duvall and I'm here to meet my father. He should arrive any day now."

Recovering his composure, Slim excused himself, "Nice to make your acquaintance, Miss Duvall. I certainly wish it had been under more pleasant circumstances."

As he turned to leave, Slim caught the gleam of something shiny on the floor. Pulling one glove out of his vest pocket, he tugged it on, and reached for the other. He let the glove fall to the floor, and as he bent to retrieve it, picked up a scrap of metal along with the glove.

"I apologize again for bothering you, Miss. Perhaps we'll meet again . . . soon."

"I will surely look forward to it, sir. And I'm sure your friend will show up."

Slim touched the brim of his hat and nodded to Miss Duvall as he stepped into the hallway. He paused as he heard the key turn in the lock behind him, then walked back to room 209 and went in.

Slim opened his hand and tilted the coin he had found on Angel Duvall's floor toward the light. Miss Liberty, with a crown of stars, on both sides!

'_Jess is the only person I've ever seen have a two-headed Liberty dollar, there can't be that many floating around.'_ he thought as he tucked the coin into his vest pocket.

'_She's lyin'. She knows more about Jess than she'd admit, sure as God made little green apples. But Jess probably primed her to tell me all that._

'_I better take care of the team. They're still out front and they're as tired as I am. Maybe Wild Bill has seen or heard from Jess. He's as bad as Mose, always waitin' to hear the latest gossip. . . . If Bill hasn't heard anything, I'll ask Mr. Hutchins, maybe Jess checked in with him while I've been talking to Miss Duvall.'_

With a backward glance at room 214, Slim Sherman headed for the stairs, spurs jingling, sure he could feel eyes boring into his back.

**Chapter 4 Where to Start**

William Otis Ferguson was known to all and sundry as Wild Bill, because of the wild and wooly tales he told of his younger days as a mountain man; how he lived with the Cheyenne and Sioux and trapped everything from bear to beaver. He was currently the hostler for the Overland Stage company in Cheyenne. Slim found him napping on a pile of straw in an empty stall and shook him awake.

"Bill, I brought in the team from the east bound run. You haven't seen Jess, have you?"

"Slim Sherman, as I live and breathe! Why, it's been a month a Sundays since I last saw ya. Jess is with you? Usually it's one or t'other, not both of ya together. I was expectin' the stage in earlier'n now. Did ya have trouble on the way in? You asked if I had seen Jess? Naw, cain't say as I have."

Slim held up a hand to slow Wild Bill and ask another question, but Bill talked on.

"What happened? Did you take your eyes off Jess and somethin' et 'im? Didn't think there was a critter that ferocious." Bill laughed at his own joke, shaking his head and slapping his dusty thigh at the thought of something mean enough to eat Jess Harper.

"At least ya got the stage here afore the storms broke. My knee, ya know the one that ornery cougar took a swipe at back in '54, I kin show ya the scar if ya ain't seen it afore now, has been twingin' fer nigh on a week, and it ain't never wrong. Weather's gonna turn any minute. Say, did I ever tell ya 'bout the time I was holed up at the back o' Rattlesnake Canyon, course that's _my_ moniker for that little piddlin' ravine, hidin' from some Shoshone, that was while I was livin' with the Cheyenne. . . or was that the time I . . . well, don't matter none to the story. Anyhow, it begun to pour the rain, and that canyon commenced to fillin' clear up to the top with the muddiest, dirtiest swirlin' flood you ever seen. . ."

When he paused to aim a stream of tobacco juice into his peach can spittoon, Slim jumped into the breach, "Wild Bill, if Jess shows up, tell him to go to the hotel and wait for me. I'm gonna go to the stage office. Maybe he's there shootin' the breeze with Mr. Hutchins." Slim was backing up as he talked, anxious to get away before Wild Bill could return to his long-winded tale.

"Marshal, Marshal Raines!" Slim hailed the Cheyenne sheriff as he cut across the chalky street, wind whipping the fine dust into a low-lying haze at their feet. "Have you seen Jess? We drove the stage in a little while ago and Jess has disappeared."

"No, Slim, but I'll bet he's bellied up to the bar in one of the waterin' holes over on Frontier Street. That ole' cat-eyed bandit will likely show up after he's locked horns with half the cowpokes in one of O'Malley's whiskey mills."

Putting his hands on his hips, Slim laughed and shook his head at Thad Raines's apt description of his hot-headed partner. "No, I haven't checked the saloons but we were supposed to meet up for a beer and supper and I can't find him. He didn't check into the hotel, either. But what's got me worried somethin' might have happened to him is he didn't take care of the team. Jess would let me starve, but he'd never neglect the horses."

"I just started my rounds, Sherman, so I'll keep an eye out for him," grinned Marshal Raines, relishing the thought of making Jess Harper pull in his horns and toe the line in the big city of Cheyenne. "Where do you want 'im to meet you?"

"I'm goin' on back to the stage office to see if Mr. Hutchins has seen him, so tell Jess to meet me there or at the hotel. He's supposed to buy the first round and I'm gonna hold him to it." Slim replied hurriedly, waving as they headed in opposite directions. He tugged his hat lower to keep it from blowing off and buttoned up his canvas jacket as the gusting wind tried to sneak chilly fingers inside his collar.

At the Overland office, Slim brushed past the line waiting to purchase tickets and through the swinging gate. He found the water pail at the back of the office and used the dipper to take one long drink, and then another.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and settled a hip on the edge of the desk, anxious to talk to the station master. Reflecting there was rarely a line in the Laramie office, Slim looked over the customers waiting impatiently. There was an older couple, in their best bib and tucker, their money out and counted, whispering behind their hands. Close behind them was a woman wearily holding a little girl who stared with unblinking blue eyes at Slim. He smiled at the tot and she removed her thumb from her mouth long enough to smile back, before tucking her curly head into her mother's shoulder.

Two men sporting gun belts, one of them wearing it strapped low on his left hip, were next. They stood apart, ignoring each other and avoiding Slim's eyes, but he got the distinct impression they were together, they knew one another.

The last potential passenger was a gambler, or at least that was the story his clothes told: grey town coat, black polished boots, fancy vest, nearly new Stetson and his hands and nails were clean and soft as a woman's, no calluses or scrapes on them.

His eyes pausing only a few seconds on each person, Slim had made his observations as discreetly as possible. Staring too long at a man could get you killed if the gent chose to take offense. But not knowing who was close at hand could get you dead, too.

Slim shifted his eyes to the window and saw a black hat bobbing across the street. He was up and through the front door before the gate had time to swing shut behind him. Dodging plunging horses and heavy wagons, he dashed across the street searching for Jess's familiar head gear and finally spotted it a couple of storefronts ahead. He lifted his hand and yelled "Jess, wait!" as the man pushed through the swinging saloon doors.

**Chapter 5 The Shady Lady**

'_I'll be damned if Jess gets a beer before I do. He's supposed to buy the first one tonight,_' Slim thought as his long legs quickly carried him to The Shady Lady Gambling Palace. He stepped through into the noise and hubbub of a hurly-burly show romping to a rousing tune and took in a whiff of the familiar yeasty fragrance of homebrewed beer, sawdust, leather and unwashed bodies. Moving to one side, he paused to let his eyes adjust to the dimness of the gaming hall after the glare of the late afternoon sun.

Jess would sit where he could have his back to a wall, probably in a corner, so Slim began making his way through the crowd. As he dodged to avoid a fella who had obviously had one too many, he spied Jess at a table in the middle of the room.

Surprised, Slim came up behind him and lifted the back brim of his hat, tilting it over his eyes, laughing, "Alright, Pilgrim, since when did _you_ throw caution to the wind? I thought you always sat with your back to the wall. Where've ya been? Why didn't you tend to the horses? And you're _still_ buyin' the first round."

The cowboy in the faded blue shirt slowly pushed himself straighter in the chair and lifted his black hat, settling it back on his head. He looked up into the wide-eyed gaze of the tall, grinning, blonde man leaning over the back of the chair opposite him. The smile slowly melted from Slim Sherman's face.

"You. . . you're not Jess Harper."

"No, I'm not. My name is Vince Riordan."

"Then what the hell are you doing wearin' Jess Harper's hat and shirt?"

Slim was slow to recover from his shock. He clenched one hand into a fist and the other came to rest on the butt of his gun. The scowl settling on his face and his threatening stance made the young man push back his chair.

Riordan held up his hands as though to ward off a blow. "Hold on a minute, friend, and I'll explain."

"Mister, you've got a lot of explaining to do. And if you don't tell me where you got those clothes, and where you left Jess, your life's not worth a plugged nickel."

Slim came around the table and lifted the cowboy to his feet with one large hand clamped on his arm. He relieved the man of his sidearm and shoved it behind his own belt.

"Not in here, Mister. It's too noisy," the cowhand said hurriedly. "Let's go outside and I'll tell ya all I know." Vince Riordan winced as the big man's fingers dug into his arm.

Slim dragged Riordan into the alley between Mulie Greene's Barbershop and the saloon and threw him up against the wall of the Shady Lady. Getting a better look in the daylight, Slim realized he was only a boy. He was close to Jess's height and build; lithe and lean, like his partner.

"Now, friend, don't let your temper run away with you. If your name's Slim Sherman, this will explain everything." Riordan cringed away from the cold anger sparking from the towering man's piercing blue eyes.

Angrily Slim asked, "How'd you figure that's me?"

The young man took off his hat—Jess's hat—and pulled an envelope from the crown.

Slim, mystified, snatched the envelope and saw it was addressed to him. Turning it over, he found the wax seal imprinted with an ornate letter "D".

"Can I go?" Riordan asked plaintively.

"No, you can't go. I've still got a lot of questions."

Raising his voice to be heard over the wind whistling around the corner of the saloon, Slim sternly questioned the young man wearing his partner's clothes, "This envelope is supposed to explain everything? Tell me where Jess is?"

"That's what the fella said."

"What fella?" Slim demanded.

Nervously the youngster replied, "The man who gave me a double eagle to wear this hat and shirt. The same one who said to walk up and down the streets."

"Where'd you meet him?"

"Today or before?" Riordan asked.

"Today!" Slim's patience was fast fraying around the edges.

"At Perkin's Mercantile over on Carey Avenue."

Slim shot back, "When?"

"Near four o'clock this afternoon."

"If you were supposed to be walkin' up and down the streets, why'd you go in the saloon?" he asked suspiciously.

Riordan answered defiantly, "I had already been walkin' all over town for close to two hours and nobody'd said nothin' to me." He lifted one shoulder, "I was thirsty, so I decided to stop and get me a beer."

"Why'd you think somebody would say something to you?"

"It's what the man said would happen. After he told me it was worth twenty dollars if I would meet him here today and wear these clothes and walk around." Vince squirmed under Slim's grip, "Can I go, Mister? I've answered all your questions."

Slim was getting more frustrated and confused as the boy talked. Standing in an alleyway with an envelope in one hand and the youngster gripped in the other did not seem the likeliest way to find Jess.

"Come with me." Slim ordered and started across the street.

"Where are you takin' me, Sherman? I ain't done nothing wrong."

"I'm not aimin' to hurt you. We're going over to the Overland office; I work for the stage line. We can talk better there. And it'll get us inside before this storm breaks."

Shrugging, Riordan reluctantly followed Slim across the street.

**Chapter 6 Vince Riordan**

It was after seven o'clock and the station manager was ready to lock up for the night. Slim pushed young Riordan through the door, startling Amos Hutchins as the two men clattered into his office. Slim asked Mr. Hutchins if he recognized the cowboy.

"Yes," Hutchins said slowly, "His name is Vince Riordan. He works as a cowhand at the Dickerson spread, out east of town."

"Dickerson, you say?" Slim glowered at Riordan. The envelope was sealed with a "D". Slim forced Riordan to sit down in a chair beside Hutchins's desk. He turned back to the door and locked it. Slim flipped the "OPEN" sign and pulled the shade down to cover the door glass. After peering out the windows on each side of the office, he pulled those shades down too.

Amos Hutchins nervously licked his lips, "I don't want any trouble, Slim Sherman."

"There's already trouble, Amos!" Slim speculatively eyed both men, "I came in earlier to ask if you had seen Jess, but while I was waitin' for you to help the customers, I saw what I thought was Jess through the window and turns out, it was Vince here wearin' Jess's hat and shirt."

Irritably, he commanded, "Riordan, give me that hat. Seeing you sitting there in Jess's clothes is. . . is makin' me madder at you by the minute."

Slim jerked the hat from Riordan's outstretched hand and carefully wiped it off on his sleeve. He hung it on the hall tree in the back, pausing to make sure the well-used black Stetson rested straight and true on the hook. Then he returned to the boy, and informed him, "I'll be taking Jess's shirt from ya, too. I reckon all the haberdasheries in town are closed till morning, but you remember it's not yours to keep."

Vince Riordan nodded, scared.

"Mr. Hutchins, can you handle a six-gun?" Slim asked, eying Riordan.

"Well, I'm no gunslick, but I reckon I can do pretty good at this range," Mr. Hutchins acknowledged.

"Will you keep him covered while I read the letter he gave me? It was inside Jess's hat." Hutchins nodded as Slim handed over Riordan's gun.

Slim used his pocket knife to slit the end of the envelope, taking care not to break the wax seal. He showed the imprint to Amos and asked if he had ever seen anything like it.

"No, but it sure looks fancy. Wonder if that 'D' was made by one of them big rings like in story books?"

Slim had delayed as long as he could. He glanced at the two men as they stared intently at the single folded sheet of paper in his hand.

Sighing, Slim opened the note and read it through once, and then again to make sure he understood. Hutchins and Riordan continued to stare, waiting for him to share what he had read. But Slim had no intention of allowing Riordan to know anything the letter said. He returned the note to the envelope and tucked it inside his vest.

Slim ran his hand through his hair, impatiently pushing back the unruly curl which had fallen over his forehead. "Riordan, you told me you met the man who gave you the double eagle before today. Is that right?"

"Yeah, Smokey Forester, the foreman at the Double D, sent me in for supplies last Monday week. I was waitin' around for the order to be filled, when a man walked up and started talkin'. Seemed to be a real nice feller, told some funny stories. He bought me breakfast at the café across from Perkin's. Then he offered me a twenty dollar gold piece if I would meet him today and walk around town wearin' these clothes."

Today was Friday. If Vince Riordan had first met the man a week ago Monday, it'd be more than ten days ago. How could anyone make sure Jess would be here today? The sole reason he and Jess were working the stage was because the regular driver and guard had taken ill. Travis and Frankie made it to the ranch, but they both had a belly ache and Frankie was nearly unconscious. To keep the mail running, Slim had changed the team while Jess rode over to get the Miller twins. Their sister Bonnie had come along to do the cooking. The two partners had taken the coach on to Cheyenne, making up time as they went, trying to get the Overland Mail line back on schedule.

'_What if it wasn't supposed to be Jess? What if it was whoever was driving the stage? What if they meant to grab me, not Jess? How could anyone make sure we would be in Cheyenne today?'_ Slim's heart began pounding at the implications of Vince Riordan's story.

'_But, the letter was addressed to me. Vince Riordan was recruited over a week ago? What's goin' on? Think maybe there's a skunk in the woodpile.'_

"Can you describe him?" Slim asked, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Sure. He had dark hair, dark eyes, older than you, maybe thirty-five or thirty-six, skinny as a rail. Big nose. Oh, and he wore his gun on his left hip. I noticed 'cause there ain't that many lefties."

Slim shot Amos a look. "How was he dressed?"

"Kind of a Duke's mixture, really; brown jacket and shirt, new lookin' boots, Levis with a couple holes in 'em and old grey cowboy hat, with a stampede string hangin' loose."

Slim and Amos Hutchins locked eyes. Riordan had described one of the men in the ticket line when Slim had first come to the stage office. Slim asked Amos to check his manifest for the man's name and destination. He followed Amos to the front counter and waited while he searched. Hutchins pointed it out, his hand trembling at the implications of the ominously familiar name: William Doolin. Was he a dangerous fugitive, or simply a man unlucky enough to carry the same name as a notorious outlaw?

Hutchins opened his mouth, but Slim shook his head, "Don't say it out loud, Amos. Riordan might understand more'n he's lettin' on, and I'm not gonna give him anything to go on."

Slim grimly walked back to Riordan and started firing questions again.

"Did he give you his name?" The young man shook his head '_no_'.

Sarcastically, Slim demanded, "Did you ask?" Again, '_no_'.

"Are you supposed to meet him again, Riordan? After you met up with me, or whoever said something to you. Will you see him again tonight to report what happened?"

The boy answered hesitantly, "No, he didn't say nothin' like that."

Slim, towering over the seated youngster, leaned down till his nose was practically in Vince's face and put a hand on each arm of Riordan's chair.

"Can you think of anything else? Did he say where he's from? Where he lives? How long he's been in Cheyenne? Where he's gonna be headin'? Who he works for? How come he's in town? Anything?" Slim punctuated each question by slamming his hands down on the chair arms.

Riordan looked rattled but shook his head from side to side each time.

"What made him think you weren't gonna take his money and go straight to the saloon or back to the Double D?"

Riordan sat up straighter, "He. . . he. . . he warned me 'bout that. . . but, Mister, I wouldn't've done that. . . that wouldn't be honest."

"Honest?" Slim snorted. He leaned closer, "Quit coyotin' around, cowboy, and tell me exactly what he said."

"Today he told me there would be somebody watchin' me all the time and I had better do what he said or they would make sure I couldn't never cross nobody else. I was scared. His eyes went black and he glared like he wanted to tear my head off."

Slim stiffened at Riordan's reply and leaned closer, "Son, this is important! Are you sure he said 'they'? _'They'_ would be watchin' you. Not _'he'_, but _'they'_?"

"Yeah, that's what he said."

Slim walked across the small office, uneasily rubbing his index finger alongside his nose. Back and forth he paced as the other men watched. Finally, he paused and turned to the others.

"Vince, I believe you. I think you figured you'd earn that double eagle without breakin' a sweat. After all, twenty dollars is nearly a month's pay."

Riordan eagerly agreed.

"But, now I believe you're in danger. That man, or men, may think you know more than you do and come gunnin' for you!" Frowning, the boy seemed to shrink in on himself, hugging his arms across his chest and pulling his legs in close to the chair.

"Hold on, I'm not gonna throw you to the wolves." Slim placed his hand on the cowboy's shoulder, but he spoke to the station master.

"Amos, give Riordan his gun, and then slip out the back and go get Marshal Raines."

Amos Hutchins handed over the pistol and hurried out the rear door.

"Riordan, you wait here. I'm goin' to look for whoever's watching you. I'll be back and Hutchins is bringing the marshal."

Slim smiled, "But don't go shootin' me–or the marshal. We'll be coming through the back door shortly."

**Chapter 7 The Voice**

Jess Harper had no idea where he was or what was going on, but his head hurt something wicked, and his stomach was protesting. He couldn't move; didn't want to move. He just wanted to be still, but he was being jostled back and forth, up and down.

Jess groaned. His insides were heaving and bile rose thickly into the back of his throat. He couldn't open his mouth, couldn't turn his head and he was choking.

He heard voices, shrill and worried, cursing and commanding. He was being thrown around even more, but felt the pressure against his left shoulder ease and he began to fall to the side. Hands quickly set him upright and pulled at the thick leather behind his gag.

Bile spewed out of his mouth and Jess was able to draw in a gasping, shuddering breath. Then he retched, sick to his stomach; dry heaves tore at his throat. Hands leaned him forward and held his head to keep the sour, bitter fluid from running down his chin and chest. Finally, he was able to quiet his stomach enough to relax, too tired and disoriented to do more.

A warm, damp cloth gently wiped at his face and chest, removing the sour stench enveloping him. It was replaced by another, wetter, cloth pushed into his mouth to wipe away the bitter aftertaste. Jess felt himself lifted and carried like a child, before he was laid down on some soft surface. He struggled to move, but could only turn his head

"Mr. 'Arper, lie still. You can rinse your mouth in a moment. Do you understand?"

Jess blindly turned toward the man's voice. The accent was strange, but he understood the words, and he wearily nodded.

Memory returned slowly: Jess recalled driving the stage to Cheyenne, taking the young lady's bags into the hotel lobby and kneeling to open the door of the room, but then only confusing sounds.

'_Slim's gonna be mad. Why's Slim gonna be mad? Cause I didn't show up ta buy him that first beer like I promised. . . I hope Slim's mad enough to come lookin' for me.' _

Someone lifted Jess's head and shoulders and slid behind him, holding him up. Jess turned his head and lifted his chin hoping to see below the blindfold, but it was secure. His eyes were shut tight. He remembered that, too; it happened in the hotel room. What was the girl's name? _'Angel. . . Angel Duvall_. . . . _Angel? More like the devil,'_ Jess thought angrily.

"Rinse your mouth, Mr. 'Arper, and then spit into the towel."

Jess did as he was told until his mouth felt clean. He turned his head away when the cup was offered again.

"Are you ready for a drink?" _That Voice_ was the same, but came from another direction, so Jess knew other hands held him. He nodded, and a cup touched his lips.

"More?" Again Jess weakly nodded.

"Mr. 'Arper, if you give me your word you will not shout or cry out, I will not gag you again. Do you give me your oath, by your sacred honor?"

Jess had turned his face toward _that Voice_. He hesitated as the meaning sunk in.

Finally he softly answered, "Yes."

"Good. You will rest here. And on your honor, will not shout. Agreed?"

Jess rasped out, "I said so, didn't I."

At least he was awake. And without the gag, he could take a deep breath. He needed time to figure out what in the blazes was goin' on. Where was he? Where was Slim? Jess remembered hearing someone say Slim was in the hotel lobby. Had they gotten him too?

His shoulders were lifted to allow whoever was behind him to stand up, and he was lowered to lay flat again. Weakly, Jess asked, "Did you use chloroform on me? It . . . always makes me sick for days."

He got no reply.

Somehow Jess was certain he was no longer in the hotel, maybe not even in Cheyenne. The shaking he had endured as he came to, or woke up or whatever happened, was a part of that certainty. He reached out with all his senses to try to discover if anyone was nearby. He desperately wanted to move his arms and legs. He needed to shift around, turn over or sit up. And, as he explored the limits of his movements, he also became uncomfortably aware he needed to tend to himself, take care of some private matters, and soon.

He sensed a change on his left, and turned his head to the side. There was a shift in the air around him, and a slight breeze of someone's passage.

"Mr. 'Arper, will you give me your word you will not attack my servants or try to escape?"

Jess considered for a few seconds and then replied, "How can I? You've got me trussed up like a Christmas goose."

"If I have your word, I will release your legs to allow you to attend to your personal needs. Otherwise, you can lie where you are and we will clean you up afterwards."

That was sure putting things bluntly. Jess, rarely at a loss for words, was caught up short. He could complain or cajole, but he knew beyond a doubt, none of his bluster would make any difference.

Jess forced his jaw to unclench, his tense muscles to relax. He took a couple of shallow panting breaths and hoped the man who stood alongside him would read it as defeat, acceptance. Reluctantly, Jess answered, "I give ya my word."

Immediately _the Voice_ issued what Jess assumed to be an order; it was in that tone, but the words made no sense. Jess's legs were lifted and he felt the bindings being removed. The feelings were wrong for it to be ropes or chains, so how did they have him hog-tied? If he knew, it might help him get loose. And Slim. . . was he tied up the same way?

Hands lifted Jess from each side; he would have fallen if they hadn't held him up. His stomach rebelled again, and he struggled to quiet it.

"Mr. 'Arper, come. My servants will assist you." The same _Voice_ spoke from several feet away, and Jess turned his head toward the sound.

The men . . .women? Tugged at his arms and Jess walked blindly between them, uncertain of his balance. He was in stocking feet and felt the need to search out his path, even if there were hands holding him.

Jess constantly turned and tilted his head trying to get his bearings and balance, to listen for any clue as to where he was.

Finally, _the Voice_ ahead impatiently called, "Come. They will not allow you to fall. It will mean punishment for them if you are injured."

He was led a few more steps, and then his arms were released. He swayed, as hands began to fumble at the waist of his pants. He spun away, but was quickly seized again, nowhere to turn.

"Whata ya think you're doin'? At least let me unfasten my own britches!"

"Mr. 'Arper, I will leave you as much dignity as I can, but I will not release your arms. This can be as easy or as difficult as you make it. No one will repeat what happens here, and we have a long time to be together. There are other ways we can continue, but you will not be happy with any of them."

Jess turned his face toward _the Voice_, and stood trembling with the effort of keeping his balance—and his temper–and inwardly cursing the weakness which threatened to overwhelm him.

"The choice is yours, continue under my conditions or back to the bed."

Jess hung his head and nodded, once, quickly and the hands resumed their position at his waist.

Having taken care of business, Jess was helped back onto the bed and the restraints put back on his legs. He was left to listen, trying to puzzle out the why and what of being taken like he was. Always in the back of his mind was his worry over Slim.

Give Jess Harper a gun or have him ride hell-bent-for-leather through Indian country or take on a whole gang of wanted men. He knew how to handle those things and knew he was good at all of them. But, here, now, all Jess's tools were gone. He couldn't fight, couldn't run, couldn't shoot, hell, he couldn't move anything except his head – and his eyes were covered so he couldn't see.

His lone asset was his mind. He'd have to use his wits to talk his way out of this mess.

'_Gotta find Slim, make sure he's safe, find out what these varmints want with us. Who are they anyway?_

'_I ain't got a clue what language they're speakin'. Not Spanish, no Indian tribe I recognize, not French or Russian. . . I've heard both a them before. Sure not English. So who's grabbed us? Why? What do me or Slim own that anybody wants bad enough to jump us?'_

Slim would know what to do. Slim was always thinking, planning, waiting, and cautioning Jess to do the same, before he jumped head-first from the fryin' pan into the fire.

Thoughtfully, Jess decided, '_Maybe I better do things Slim's way. . . Wouldn't Slim hoot and holler to hear me say that? What's Slim doin'? I bet he's layin' quiet, not buckin' anybody. . . but he'll be plotting and plannin', so soon as he gets a chance, he'll be ready to escape. . . . Mort's always sayin' how I've got the gift of gab, so guess I'll try that. Got nothin' else.'_

Jess had dozed, but startled awake at some sound. He cleared his throat and asked in a strained voice, "Can I have somethin' to drink? I'm awful dry."

There was a scurry beside him, a door opened and closed, and then silence until light footsteps crossed to his bedside.

"Mr. 'Arper, do you require something?"

"A drink of water? Or maybe coffee? I'm real thirsty."

His head was lifted, a cup held to his lips and he drank greedily. Water. It was refilled and he drank deeply again.

"Could I sit up? I really need to move around some. And I'm hungry, too. Haven't eaten since I left the ranch to drive the stage to Cheyenne."

His requests were translated into the strange dialect and soon there was a mouthwatering aroma directly in front of his face. He was lifted into a sitting position. A nudge against his lower lip, and he opened eagerly for the spoon. He ate until no more was offered. A cloth wiped his mouth and chin, another drink, and hands guided him to lie back down.

'_Alright, time to turn on the charm, Harper.'_

"Thank you, that was real tasty. I was hungry enough to eat the ears off a runnin' mule, like I told Slim in Cheyenne. . . . Uh, I'm not in Cheyenne anymore, am I?"

"No, Mr. 'Arper, you are not," answered _the_ _Voice_. "I do not understand the 'ears off running mule'? You were not given mule to eat."

Jess laughed, "No, I wasn't thinkin' I was eatin' mule. It's just an expression, a teasin' way of sayin' I was really, really hungry."

"Ah, I see. A joke? You find a joke here, perhaps?"

"I wasn't makin' fun, I was only repeatin' what I had said to my partner, Slim Sherman. . . . Do you know where Slim is?"

"Yes," _the Voice_ replied.

"Is he here?" Jess asked quickly.

"No."

"Can you tell me where he is? Is he all right?"

"Yes, I could tell you, but I will not. Mr. Sherman is safe for the moment."

"Whatta ya mean, 'for the moment'?" Jess was thrashing around, throwing his head from side to side, "What are you goin' to do?" He had to quit struggling so he could hear as the ominous _Voice_ continued.

"Everything depends on you, Mr. 'Arper. You are the surety for Mr. Sherman. Your obedience, your success in your assignment, helps ensure Mr. Sherman's continued health."

Abruptly, footsteps left his side. Disgusted, Jess thought,_'Well, sure didn't accomplish much. So much for the famous Harper charm.'_

**Chapter 8 Jailhouse Blues**

After reassuring Riordan, Slim drew his gun and eased out into the alley. Cautiously, his pistol held firmly in a suddenly sweaty grip, Slim pushed himself deep into doorways and shaded corners, alert to any movement not belonging to the night shadows. His patience was rewarded when he caught a glint of metal; a form shifted restlessly in a darkened entrance on the far side of Frontier Street.

The threatened rain arrived as Slim crept up behind the lurking man, although the keening wind and crashing thunder hid any noise he made and the watcher was taken by surprise. He twisted away and ran, but Slim's warning shot stopped him cold. They both were soaked to the skin, and the sullen stranger was the worse for wear after Slim cross-tied him with a rawhide pigging string and dragged him through Cheyenne's muddy streets to the jail. Marshal Raines had taken Vince Riordan there for his own protection after hearing Amos Hutchins's story.

Slim was furious when he got no answers from his prisoner. He was madder yet at Thad Raines for not letting him put a bullet in the man's leg since he wouldn't talk. According to Hutchins, his name was Earl Davis; he was the other gunslick Slim had seen in the Overland Stage office.

Perkin's Mercantile opened at six on Saturday morning; Slim was their first customer. He bought a shirt, in Jess's size, and carried the package over to the jail. Leaving his revolver with Thad's deputy, he walked back and thrust the bundle through the bars of Vince Riordan's cell.

"I'll take Jess's shirt now, Riordan." Vince took off the worn blue shirt and handed it to Slim.

Vince Riordan cleared his throat and in a shaky voice, began to apologize, "Uh. . . Mr. Sherman, I didn't have no idea I was causing any trouble. I jus' supposed it was a trick he was playin' on somebody, somebody he knew. You've seen how cowboys play pranks on each other, see if they can get something over on one another, and expectin' next time the joke'll be on you. I wouldn't want to see nobody get hurt over what I did and I'm awful sorry you ain't found your friend. If I remember anything else, I'll tell Marshal Raines and he can get hold of ya." He looked very young and scared as he gripped the iron bars of his cell.

Slim conceded, "I don't think you meant my partner any harm, but next time, think long and hard before you take somebody up on their offer. If a deal sounds too good to be true, it probably is. Jess is still missing and I'm afraid something bad's happened to him."

Tapping his gloved fist against the cross bar, Slim got ready to leave, "Riordan, Marshal Raines says he'll let you go when he decides it's safe."

Slim noticed Earl Davis, lounging on the bed in the next cell and thought longingly about shaking the truth out of him. But he figured the deputy and Raines would complain if he did, and might even decide to lock him up for causing trouble in their jailhouse. So he contented himself with an accusing glare, taking satisfaction in seeing Davis swallow hard and shrink back out of reach. He retrieved his gun from the deputy's outstretched hand and angrily shoved it into the holster, letting the front door slam behind him hard enough to rattle the glass and leaving a stack of wanted posters fluttering to the floor in his wake.

The wind was still driving slanting curtains of rain along the mud-slicked streets as Slim headed to the Plains Hotel, determined to speak to Angel Duvall. He flung water from his hat and hastily climbed the stairs to knock loudly at room 214. No one answered the door, but fussy Mr. Mortimer soon approached and clearing his throat, announced,

"Miss Duvall checked out of her room a short time after you left the hotel last evening, Mr. Sherman."

"Have you rented the room to anyone else?" Slim quickly inquired.

"Nooo, but, Mr. Sherman, you already have a room, which you did not even occupy last night."

"I don't want to rent the room, but I would like to look it over, if you don't mind, since you've not let it out to anyone else."

"Well, I don't see any harm in it. The maid will be in shortly to clean. There was quite an assortment left behind by the young lady," Henry replied.

Mortimer sniffed disdainfully, "She wrote requesting reservations, and said she would be staying with us for a month. I hired two boys to get her trunk up the stairs on Thursday. It actually took two husky men to wrestle it back down last night. Hardly worth the effort, if you ask me."

Clearing his throat, the nosy clerk asked, "What exactly are you looking for, Mr. Sherman?"

"I'm not quite sure, Mr. Mortimer, but I'm reliable. The stage line will stand good for me," Slim told him pointedly. The Great Central Overland stageline was the Plains Hotel bread and butter, delivering most of their overnight guests.

"Oh, yes, sir. Most assuredly, sir." Mortimer hastily swept past Slim and unlocked the door, allowing him to enter first.

The bed was rumpled, but the sheets had not been turned down. Dresser drawers were empty, the closet door ajar, and flimsy lace curtains whipped in a damp breeze from the open windows. The imprint of the big steamer trunk was clearly visible and the jumble of odd pieces Slim had noticed the day before were scattered across the floor.

Slim picked up part of a stack of books and one of the oddly shaped rocks he had seen earlier. The first book had to do with geology, the second, mining. Slim laid them on the bed to pick up three more, but their titles were in French. Some of the words bore a similarity to English, and appeared to relate to mining.

Slim turned his attention to the rocks, four of them, round and all nearly the same size, covered with pockmarked indentions. He recognized them as geodes, found occasionally in the Wyoming mountains.

Henry had been standing by the open door as Slim examined the room. He noisily cleared his throat and asked, "Are you satisfied, Mr. Sherman?"

Slim, distracted, slowly turned to face Mortimer, "Huh? What did you say?"

"I asked if you were ready to leave."

"Oh, yeah. . . sure. But, can I take these books and the rocks?"

"The maid will throw them out, so take whatever you want. Saves us the trouble."

"Thank you, Mr. Mortimer." Slim hurriedly gathered as many of the books and rocks as he could carry. "I'll take these to my room and be back for the rest."

**Chapter 9 Leaving Cheyenne**

Slim went to Marshal Raines with the news of Angel Duvall's departure. He again demanded to question Earl Davis, but Raines assured Slim he could handle that chore quite well by himself. The prisoner still refused to talk, not even confirming his name.

The Cheyenne lawman reluctantly admitted, "I'm gonna have to turn him loose, Sherman. There's really nothing I can hold him on. There's not much proof Jess hasn't gotten a snoot full and will show up after he sleeps it off."

Spoiling for a fight, Slim turned on the marshal, but Raines cut him off, shoving Slim toward the door, "Don't rear up at me, Slim. Any two-bit lawyer would have my badge for keepin' Davis locked up this long."

Slim stormed out of the jail and wasted his time going over the same territory he had covered on Friday evening. He talked again to Wild Bill at the livery, Amos Hutchins at the Overland Stage office, and Joe, the stout barkeep at the Shady Lady. Each of them made it a point to catch any gossip floating around town, but none of them had seen or heard a whisper of Jess Harper's whereabouts.

Returning to the hotel, he flung himself down on the bed. Flipping Miss Liberty over and over, Slim began to list all the odd things he had noticed:

'_Angel Duvall said Jess carried her bag to the room, but the clerk said bags. And there were two matching carpetbags__Jess threw down from the stage; I noticed them because the last one was so heavy, but there was only one in her room. _

'_Why on earth would a young lady have rocks, of all things, in a hotel room? And books on mining? What would she need with those? And in French? _

'_The letter was sealed with a 'D'. For Duvall? Or for Dickerson, the spread__where Riordan works? The man in jail, his last name is Davis. And the one who hired Vince Riordan is William Doolin. Too many D's; it could be any one of 'em.'_

Slim scrubbed his hand across his face, _'Wh__ere did that huge trunk come from? It wasn't part of the freight we brought in. I would sure remember having to unload anything that big__and Jess would still be complainin'!'_

He mused,_ 'Somebody better check on that errand boy. I bet whoever has Jess made sure he wouldn't be at work Friday.'_

Closing his fist around the silver dollar, Slim decided, _'There aren't that many two headed coins floatin' around Wyoming. This Liberty dollar has to be Jess's. _

'_And to top it all. . . I never told her my name, but she called me Mr. Sherman.'_

Slim worried his last question around until, exhausted, he slept restlessly for a couple of hours, troubled by anxious dreams of Jess calling his name.

Awake, but not rested, Slim's mind was racing again. _'The letter tucked in Jess's hat said for me to go home and wait till they contact me. _

'_I'm positive the jasper I cornered last night is not the only one around. It could be any man. . . or woman. . . I pass on the street. _

'_Jess's life depends on whoever is runnin' this shindig trustin' me to follow his orders. I need to ride for Laramie. Can't take the chance of gettin' Jess killed.' _

Slim sat down to write a letter to Mort Cory; he needed to tell Mort what was going on and warn him to keep his eyes open. And to ask for Mort's help with the plan tumbling around in his head. Amos could put his letter in the next mail bag headed for Laramie.

After stuffing the books and geodes into his and Jess's saddlebags, Slim checked out of the hotel and walked to the stage office to borrow a horse. The wooden bridge at Newman's Crossing had been washed out and the next Overland coach west would have to wait for it to be repaired. The road needed to dry enough to warrant starting out with paying passengers; they would not be happy slogging through mud up to their boot straps. And the horses couldn't pull a stage through hub-deep chuck holes.

Amos told Slim to take his pick of the Overland stock and to have Wild Bill loan him the tack he needed. Since it was so late, Hutchins tried to convince Slim to wait for morning. But Slim had the bit in his teeth and what Jess called _'that dad-gum Sherman stubborn'_ set to his jaw. He thanked Amos, handed over the letter for Mort Cory and collected Jess's hat. Slim wanted everybody to notice as he walked boldly down the middle of Frontier Street.

He made decent time until dark. The low-hanging clouds hid both moon and stars, and left the road little more than a suggestion. The rain had started again in a steady, sodden drizzle, but his poncho and wide-brimmed hat pulled down tight kept most of the cold drops at bay. Slim pushed hard to get home. A sense of urgency drove him, pushing his mount as hard as he dared, his mind busy with details of the plan he had outlined to Mort. _'Well,'_ he thought, '_At least I won't spend the whole ride worryin' about Jess's whereabouts.'_

The moonless night and muddy road conspired to slow him from a lope, to a trot, and then to a fast walk. The second time Slim's horse stumbled, he lost a stirrup and found himself clutching at his mount's mane and withers to stay aboard, his head dangling below the horse's neck. He talked quietly to the jumpy animal while recovering his seat. Then he swung down and cradled the blowing colt's head in one arm, while the other hand gently knuckled his jaw. Both rider and mount were trembling with exertion from the wet, cold ride.

"Alright, boy, let's you and me walk a ways. We're not showin' off for the pony express. It won't benefit Jess anything if I break your legs or my neck. We'll shelter under the trees, maybe find some dry wood and rest awhile. I'll rub you down, get the wet blanket off your back, some coffee in me and things will look a mite brighter."

Dead, dry sticks littered the duff beneath a massive ponderosa fir. Slim quickly kindled a fire and got a pot of coffee going, the fresh clean scent of the pines and the sharp tang of the hot brew mingling, trapped under the thick sweeping branches.

"Horse, we have Wild Bill to thank for the coffee and pie. I was too flustered to think about coffee or anything else. Would've left my head if it weren't attached. Never even thought to ask your name, but guess you'll answer to '_Horse_' just fine."

His nervous mount crowded close, lipping crumbs of pie crust and searching for more as Slim propped the worn black saddle to make a pillow for his back. Horse and rider rested, taking comfort in each other's company, until the rain stopped except for an occasional drop trickling off the drenched leaves. A sliver of a moon had begun to peek from behind ragged clouds as Slim saddled back up and got underway. At dawn, he was able to pick up speed, mud pelting him from his mount's hooves. It was late morning as he topped the last ridge and could see the house below_. _

Slim set a slow walk down the slippery hill while he took in every detail, searching for the changes he felt should be there. So much had happened since Friday, surely those differences would be echoed in the ranch, but everything seemed to be serene in the routine of a restful Sunday.

There were several horses dozing in the corral, the Miller twins were working in the barnyard, and smoke curled lazily from the chimney. Two men sat on the front porch and Slim realized it was Frankie and Travis; he had completely forgotten about them.

When he reached the house, Slim was muddy from hat to heels and swore he was wearing at least ten pounds of Wyoming clay. He wearily greeted the Millers, thanked them for their help, and ate the lunch Bonnie put in front of him, washed down with gallons of coffee. He again assured the Millers of his help at round-up time and the three set off for home, promising to return if Slim sent for them.

Frankie and Travis declared they were fully recovered, it must have been something they ate which gave them such a belly ache and Slim didn't argue. He outfitted them with company horses and the two headed toward Laramie to pick up their next run.

Waiting for the stages to get back on schedule, Slim was never idle; he used the time to prepare for Jess's rescue. He wore his revolver every waking hour, the iron snugged down tight. His skinning knife was tucked in his right boot and the little hide-out derringer from the barn's lock box nestled inside his vest.

**Chapter 10 Proof**

Slim carried a load of tack into the barn. He sat down, saddle soap and rag in hand, but within minutes was asleep, his back against a convenient hay bale. Mose Shell found him there when he brought in the East-bound stage early the next morning.

"Say, Slim, yore bed too soft? Or did Jess snore too loud?"

Slim sat up, blearily wiping the sleep from his eyes. "Mose. I'll bring up a fresh team. I thought I'd sit down for a minute, but I must've slept here all night."

"That's alright, Slim. Take yore time. I'll get some coffee. We're ahead of schedule and the passengers will enjoy havin' time to stretch their legs and rest their be-hinds."

"Mose, you'll have to fix the coffee. And there's a pie Bonnie Miller made."

"Sure, Slim, my coffee's better'n yours any day. And way better'n Jess's. Where is Jess, anyway? Nappin' like his boss? I'll get 'im goin'." Mose cackled as he started for the house. Slim shrugged but didn't answer, his eyebrows climbing to his hairline; he just went to gather up a fresh team.

Slim changed out the horses before going inside the house. Mose was bustling around stacking cups and saucers and cutlery in the dishpan. "Worked out perfect, Slim. We're ready to board again, folks."

Turning to Slim, Mose commented, "Jess wasn't in the house. Where has he got hisself off to this time?"

"Uh. . . Jess stayed in Cheyenne to help out for a few days," Slim mumbled.

"Oh, reckon I'll see him there," Mose nodded as he accepted the lie. Slim figured Mose could get the whole story from Wild Bill or Amos Hutchins.

He followed the salty old teamster and his passengers out the front door, politely handing the ladies into the coach. He latched the stage door and sang out, "All right, Mose."

Mose leaned down from the driver's box, "Hang on there a minute, Slim. I almost fergot. Here's yore mail and a package."

"Did you see who sent the package, Mose?" Slim asked, trying to keep his voice under control.

"Nah, the agent handed it to me as we left Laramie, said to make shore you got it."

"Thanks, but you better get a move on before your team decides to take their tails over to Wells Fargo."

"Not a chance. Listen while I tell em' how much I love 'em!" With a shout, Mose shook out his reins, muddy water spraying behind the coach as the horses gathered speed.

A flash caught Slim's eye from the hill above the pasture, but he didn't pause, striding determinedly through the door and closing it behind him.

Once inside, Slim used his pocket knife to cut the twine holding the brown paper wrapper. The box was addressed to:

_Mr. Slim Sherman  
__Sherman Relay Station  
__Laramie, Wyoming Territory__  
_

But the senders address and the post mark were smeared and unreadable. _'That's no accident. Somebody deliberately made sure the post mark couldn't lead me back to them.'_

The wooden box held a single black glove. Carefully laying it aside, Slim cringed at this further evidence of his best friend's kidnapping. Beneath the glove was a sheet of thick, ivory-colored stationery sealed with the same fancy wax imprint as in Cheyenne. At the bottom was a parchment scroll, tightly rolled and knotted with a scrap of blue bandana.

He stared at the paper, frowning, before breaking the seal.

_Sir: The glove is proof I hold Jess Harper. There are other factions who have the same goal as I. If there is no item belonging to Mr. Harper in the missive you receive, do not respond to any requests or carry out any orders. You must decipher the clue accompanying this letter, then put an advertisement in the Laramie Gazette containing only the letter "D", and await further instructions._

_You are watched at all times. Do not leave your ranch. _

The writing was the same spidery, elegant script as the note delivered in Jess's hat, and something in the stilted, formal words made Slim believe the writer was not familiar with English. He unrolled the parchment and used several books to hold it flat. It was a crude map. There was no indication of top or bottom or north, south, east or west. The lines ended at one edge, and Slim saw the paper had been cut or torn. There were also two circles, one a little above the other.

A crooked trail made up most of the map, but to one side was a section which reminded Slim of a pine tree, one central trunk and seven branches. Symbols were drawn along the edge. _'That looks like the Cheyenne sign for water or river and there's what could be the sign for mountain. But what's the angled line? It almost looks like an arrow. I've never seen anything exactly like it.'_

The Overland coach left Cheyenne at daybreak with five passengers, a full load of freight and a strongbox bound for the Laramie bank. The passengers had to get out of the stage countless times to lighten the load. It was nearing dusk and the warm light spilling out the door and windows of the Sherman Relay Station looked very inviting to the tired and irritable travelers.

Wagering one or more of the fares was in cahoots with Jess's kidnappers, Slim made everything seem as normal as he could. He had fresh, hot coffee ready to pour and set out two custard pies left by Bonnie Miller. They were quickly devoured to a chorus of satisfied grunts and requests for seconds, or even thirds.

Once the stage had rumbled out of sight, Slim removed the harnesses from the weary team. He hastily rubbed them down, giving them a lick and a promise to do better next time, and turned them out in the pasture.

For hours after the West bound coach pulled out, Slim pored over the books and map; he took a hammer and struck one of the round rocks, splitting it open to reveal glittering crystals. One of the geology books said geodes were sometimes found near the site of gold or silver veins, having been thrown to the surface after an upheaval deep within the earth.

When his stomach growled loud enough to remind him the lunch hour was long past and supper was late too, Slim put on another pot of coffee and rummaged in the spring house for butter and cheese. He smeared two cold biscuits with butter before warming them in the oven and chewed thoughtfully on a hunk of cheese as he washed it all down with fresh coffee. Standing by the table impatiently tracing the pine tree with one finger, he kept mulling over how Angel Duvall, the rocks and books could be connected to Jess's disappearance.

Suddenly, Slim realized why the map looked familiar: it reminded him of the one Jess had found in that Durango silver spur last year. That map was supposed to lead to the fabled Lost Dutchman mine, but only a scrap of it was there. This looked like only part of a map, too.

He and Jess had been glad to leave both spur and map with the swindler who called himself the Senator and shake off the dust of Jackson City. Slim picked up the parchment. Could that old con man have something to do with this new trouble?

Slim had always thought The Lost Dutchman was a tall tale to hornswoggle greenhorns from the East, but someone must think it was real to have gone to this much trouble, and to have carried out threats against his family. The Lost Dutchman mine was supposed to be in the Superstition Mountains of Arizona. Why would anyone demand he locate an Arizona mine in Wyoming? Slim kept glancing at the map and absently rubbing his neck as he paced. The books on mining and geology, the geodes and this map all had to have something to do with Jess's disappearance, and if he could figure it out, he should be able to find Jess.

Slim began pacing again and as he peered at the map from across the room, he unexpectedly realized where it led. He gave the map a quarter turn and its location in the Laramie Range became as plain as the nose on his face. The pine tree trail was a mystery, but Slim figured if he had to travel there, it would make sense then.

Old stories his father had told came flooding back. Slim sensed a puzzle falling into place, all the pieces fit. If he was right. . . he had just dealt himself a winning hand. Exhilarated by his discovery, he knew he could call the kidnappers bluff.

'_Not a question of winnin' a poker hand. There's no money on the table, but somebody must think there's a mine full of gold. And the stakes can't get much higher: Jess's life. His freedom. . . and mine.'_

Slim wrote out his advertisement for Mose to deliver to Laramie on his next run from Cheyenne.

**Chapter 11 Leaving the Past Behind**

Boys love to collect odd bits and pieces on their daily adventures and the young Slim Sherman had been no different. His Pa made him a box with a sliding lid to keep his treasures, and Slim had passed it down to Andy when he thought he had outgrown his collecting. But, he'd transferred his arrowheads and eagle feathers and fossils and other oddities to one of his mother's trunks. He spent a half hour searching around the attic before finding his prized ore glittering with an inch wide vein of gold.

Downstairs, he slid the gold ore into the top drawer of the desk. Unable to concentrate on ranch accounts or company ledgers, he finished off the last of the coffee, and started another pot.

Slim's nervous pacing brought him to the fireplace; he propped a boot on the hearth, and leaned on the mantle, resting his head on his forearms.

What would Jess do in his place? What advantages would he have?

Slowly, Slim walked to the side of the chimney and raised the lid of the hidden storage compartment. He reached inside and brought out the oiled cloth holding the side arm Jess had carried when he first showed up at the ranch. He stared at the pearl-handled revolver for several heartbeats.

Slim balanced Jess's six-shooter in his hand. Only a professional carried a gun with a hair trigger and the sear filed down, the hammer flattened.

He drew his own revolver and laid it next to the gleaming Colt. So many memories. So many arguments with his friend over putting that gun away for good.

'_Jess started building a new life the day he quit wearing this gun. He's not the hard, hopeless drifter, with no home and no future I found trespassin' up by the lake. It's not fair. He. . . we. . . never asked to get mixed up in all this. Jess's iron might give me an advantage, but look at the cost. I can't dredge up the past after I've asked him to leave it behind.' _

Slim's eyes hardened, and grim-faced, he slipped his gun back into the holster, secured the hammer with the leather thong. _'The price is too damn high!'_ He angrily wrapped the cloth around Jess's past, and tucked it back in its hiding place.

Too keyed up to sleep, Slim walked out the kitchen door with his bulging saddlebags disguised under the odd bits of harness and leather he had gathered up around the house. The saddlebags were packed with a change of clothes for himself, a clean shirt for Jess, rolls of bandages, and every cartridge for revolver and rifle he could find. He was bringing the medical supplies because with Jess's past record, Slim felt certain they would be needed. A big feed sack held Jess's hat.

Once inside the barn, Slim quickly stowed the saddlebags and gunny sack with his gear and rifle in the wooden crate McCormick had used to ship their last piece of farm equipment, and determinedly hammered the lid shut.

**Chapter 12 Bear**

Jess thought it was the second day since he had come to, but he couldn't be sure. He was fed at random intervals, allowed to sit up occasionally, but always at odd times, never in a pattern, never a routine. Sometimes they woke him as he drifted off to sleep, other times he woke up by himself; one time, his belly might begin wondering if his throat had been cut; another time food would be offered before he had digested the last.

He had examined his kidnapping from every angle he could imagine. Whoever had drugged him had to be well organized and have plenty of help. It must be someone with lots of money to pay for information and to hire men who asked no questions.

The strange accent of _the Voice_, the language he couldn't identify, meant he could have been taken anywhere by now. He had no idea how long he'd been unconscious. They could have him halfway across the country. All he knew for sure was whoever had captured him feared him, else they would not have taken so many precautions or tied him down the way they had. _'They better be scared. I don't take kindly to what's been done to me and mine.'_

Whenever Jess spoke it caused a swift flurry of sounds, a door to open and close and _the Voice_ to approach and inquire what he needed.

Jess had to keep reminding himself to lie quietly, to not give vent to his anger and frustration at being forced to stillness. _'How would Slim handle this?'_ was all that was keeping him from going crazy.

But, this time, Jess decided he had been patient long enough. "Ya said ya had a job for me to do. Ain't it time to get started? If I lay here much longer, I'll be so addled I won't be much good to ya for anything."

"You will have much to do shortly, Mr. 'Arper. I must warn you the consequences of failure are dire, but you are uniquely qualified for this task." This was a new voice, coarse and deep, with the same kind of accent as that other _Voice_ and although calm, the man seemed impatient at being called to Jess's side.

"You talk in riddles. I don't even understand the meanin' of some of them big words you used." Jess replied irritably.

"Do not think to fool me, Mr. 'Arper. You are more intelligent and resourceful than you want to appear. I investigated you, and your friend. You have been observed for some months."

"You've been watchin' me? Slim, too? What do you want with us? Leave Slim alone. He wouldn't hurt anybody, he's straight as an arrow. He can't be mixed up in anything crooked." Jess's voice rose as he tried to twist himself around.

"What makes you assume I am an outlaw, Mr. 'Arper? Why do you think I want you to do something dishonest?"

Jess interrupted, "You kidnapped me! What else would ya. . . ."

But this new tormentor overrode Jess's protests, "Is it because, you _were_ mixed up in, as you say, something crooked? You were wanted dead or alive, a reward of $5,000 for your arrest. . .or your dead body? In Willow, Colorado?"

Jess forced himself to calm down, "You know it was all a lie. Sam Jarrod cleared me and recalled those posters." Stubbornly, he added, "If you've watched for months, checked me and Slim out, you know about my past. I'm not proud of some of the things I've done, but I never tried to hide 'em. And most of the trouble I got mixed up in was years ago. Before I met Slim Sherman."

"Mr. 'Arper, your tasks are not necessarily outside the law, but you are needed to protect my interests. There are others after the same prize and you must guarantee I am the victor."

"Are ya gonna tell me what I'm supposed to do? How am I gonna help ya win anythin' tied up like this?" Jess demanded, impatience creeping into his tone again.

A sudden bellow, near at hand, in a strange, clipped accent, ratcheted Jess Harper's tension up another notch, "Later, Mr. 'Arper. _I_ say when. _I_ say where. _I_ say why,"

'_He growls like a grouchy old bear,'_ Jess thought angrily.

Jess flinched as the old bear hissed close to his ear, "There must be no mistakes. Both your lives depend on it."

Swallowing his angry retort, Jess heard Slim's voice, clear as day, reminding him to go easy, not take off like some spooked mustang, _'Jess! Slow down, Pard. You get more flies with honey than with vinegar.' _

Jess settled himself into the bed, forced himself to relax, tried a smile, "Well, you're the boss. You've really sized me up. I'll go on lazin' around till you're ready for me to get started," Jess replied with an easiness he did not feel.

He paused and then added, "But, just so's ya know, I won't gun down nobody for ya."

"Not even to save your friend's life?" The heavy voice asked sarcastically.

"No. Slim'd figure it wasn't worth his life to take another's, so I have to abide by that too." Jess shook his head sorrowfully, "Slim would never forgive me."

The man he'd dubbed "Bear" left without another word.

More long hours of lying bound and blind, his mind working frantically, trying to figure out who had watched him, Slim, the relay station; which strangers . . . or friends? _Had_ he lost his edge? Had he gotten so settled at the ranch? No, Jess knew, deep down, he was as quick to spot trouble as he'd always been. That kind of awareness was ingrained in him, as much a part of him as breathing. Sure he had relaxed, wasn't as quick to take offense, but in this rough country, a man who didn't pay attention often wound up on boot hill.

Jess had told Bear Slim was fair, straight as an arrow. Slim was also the most determined man Jess knew when he was convinced he was right. Slim practiced what he preached, frequently getting his knuckles, or his head skinned wadin' into a fight not his own, purely on the side of justice. _'Come to think of it,' _Jess considered ruefully,_ 'I've done the same a time or two. That dad-blamed Slim, open-hearted and open-handed, just__believes in the basic goodness of the universe. Good will triumph over Evil. Justice will prevail. Let the law handle everythin'. _

'_Guess his Ma and Pa drilled it into 'im. The shame in Slim's voice when he's told me, more'n once, about joinin' the vigilantes at Adobe Wells. . . he still regrets another way weren't found. He and the other men took the law in their own hands; he shared in handin' out rough frontier justice. But to my way of thinkin', Good better be mighty careful and keep a weather eye out for Evil lurkin' right around the corner.'_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 13 Moving Mountains**

Up well before dawn, Slim had the coffee made, stock fed, eggs gathered and Flossie milked by the time the first bright rays topped the eastern ridge. Carrying his third cup of coffee, he went to the bedroom to find a clean bandana. His shirt seemed a little loose and his gun belt had to be taken in a notch. Inspecting himself in the mirror, Slim had to admit there were dark circles under his eyes and a sunken look to his cheeks.

'_Well,'_ he thought wryly_,__'__Jess is always after me to skip the occasional second helping and cut out having dessert so often. Only problem, Jess is sittin' there with his fork all ready to stab anything I leave, so naturally I have to go ahead and eat it so he can keep his boyish figure.'_ He started to chuckle but scowled instead, missing Jess's sly teasing.

Scratching at his itchy stubble of beard, Slim decided, _'The whiskers help__my disguise so I'll skip shavin'. Makes me look more down in the heels.' _

Pulling Miss Liberty out of his vest pocket, Slim thoughtfully flipped the coin over. Jess was forever telling him to trust his gut, his instincts. _'Guess I'd best try thinking like that hot-headed, reckless Texan and bet Miss Liberty will land heads up every time.'_ But, being Slim, never one to look for the silver lining, fear twisted his insides at the thought of all that could go wrong.

"Dadgum-it, Mort, I'm goin' and that's all there is to it!" Slim was switching clothes with Lars Svenson while shouting down Sheriff Mort Cory. He had hurriedly told the two men how Jess's glove and the treasure map arrived on yesterday's stage.

"Slim, you sound just like Jess."

"Good! Jess is exactly who I meant to sound like."

"Simmer down, son, and hear me out. You're not thinkin' straight right now. This is the darnedest harebrained scheme you or Jess has ever cooked up." Mort walked over to his young friend, placing a hand on his arm to calm him down.

"If you didn't think it was a good idea, why are you and Lars here?" Slim cut in sharply. He shook off Mort's hand and stalked over to the couch to pull his boots back on.

Slim turned to Lars Svenson, his childhood friend, imploring, "Lars, we've fooled people before, ever since we were knee high to a grasshopper. From a distance, we could confuse my Ma - or yours - as to which one she was callin' to supper."

"I know, Slim. But I've put on a few pounds since then," Lars laughed as he struggled into Slim's jeans. "Mort told me what was goin' on, and I dropped everythin' to come. I'll take care of the place and keep the stages runnin'. You go find Jess before the trail gets cold."

He laid a comforting hand on Slim's shoulder, and they both turned to Mort. Slim had on the clothes Lars had worn to the ranch: denims faded to grey, a blue bib front shirt and blue bandana. He pulled on a striped barn jacket with a torn sleeve and ripped pocket as Lars slipped on Slim's tanned leather vest and stone-brown Stetson. Lars's ten-gallon hat, stained and sweat streaked until it was almost colorless completed Slim's disguise.

In Slim's tan-checked shirt and Levis, with a red bandana tied around his neck, Mort had to admit Lars could easily pass for Slim's twin.

Shaking his head, Mort continued to object, "Slim, there are too many things that can go wrong."

Lars joined in, "Mort, we talked it all out on the way here. You understand well as me Slim has to do whatever he can. Now, not later. And, since he's figured out what these owlhoots are after and where it's at, he's got the jump on 'em—at least for now."

"He _thinks_ he's figured out what they're after." Mort mopped his brow with his bandana and then the inside of his hatband, convinced Slim's foolhardy plan would get one of them hurt or killed.

"Slim, I've sent for Sam Peck, the Territorial Marshal. He should be here in four or five days."

Slim glared, his pale eyes glittering, "Mort, Sam Peck is a good man, but I can't wait any more. It's already been almost a week. A week without knowin' where Jess is or who's got him. Or what they've done to him."

Shoulders slumping, Slim let his friends see how truly alarmed he was, "Please, Mort, I need your help and I'll need Sam to come after me, but I can't wait around here any longer. Jess would do the same for me—has done it—when the tables were turned."

Mort sighed as he poured them each a cup of coffee, "Alright, son, tell me again so I have it all square for the marshal after he does get here," and settled down to listen while they waited for nightfall.

Slim took time to go to the kitchen and get Jonesy's old liniment-boiling kettle, steam rising from the hot water, a smaller dented and stained pan inside. He sat down with Lars's ten-gallon hat and a small square of suede leather. Using a wooden spoon to spread the syrupy mucilage, he fashioned a three sided pocket in the crown of the cowboy hat. As he worked, he explained his ideas to Mort and Lars.

"Lars, do you remember Ari Albertson? He had an ornery old mule he called Baby Blue, remember? Ari walked with a real bad limp, I don't recall a time he didn't have a bad leg. According to Pa, a rock fall trapped him for days before he managed to work himself loose and he crawled, pulling Babe behind him, out to Resurrection Bluff where Pa and Bill Bates found him. They were up in the pass hunting and happened on him; heard Babe brayin' fit to beat the band and went to see what the ruckus was. Well, Ari never was able to go out prospecting again, but in the pack on Babe's back was gold ore rich enough to set Ari up in style for the rest of his days."

Nodding, Lars held one side of the patch in place as Slim added glue to another corner.

"Ari was always tryin' to get somebody to take him back into the Laramie Range to find his mine. He'd been on the way to register his claim before the rocks fell on him. A few different ones tried to help him, including Pa, but Ari was so suspicious of 'em, he laid out false trails or doubled back until nobody paid him any mind; he had cried 'Wolf' too many times."

Slim walked over to the desk, "Ma and Pa let Ari stay here whenever he wanted and I can remember him saying how rich his strike was and what he would give the man he could trust to take him up in the mountains." He brought out two fist-sized rocks, handing one to Lars and the other to Mort. Lars's eyes grew round and Mort whistled as they each examined the thumb-wide vein of gold sparkling in the light.

"I was a kid, younger than Andy, and Ari gave me these to pay for taking care of Babe while he was bunkin' with us. He described the mine and how he had braced up the inside with timbers and then how he had hidden the entrance by dynamiting a cliff off to the side and let it fall to disguise the opening. Pa always figured Ari trapped himself under the cliff trying to hide the mine entrance. Ari said he had two ways into his mine; Indians always had a back way out and he thought that was perfect. He started calling the mines Number One and Number Two, but really they were the opposite ends of the same mine."

Slim's forehead creased with the effort to remember everything. He had to make Sheriff Cory believe as strongly as he did the Lost Dutchman mine was in the Laramie Range and not the Superstition Mountains.

"Mort, you came to Laramie after Ari passed away, but I'm sure you've heard the stories. And, Lars, you saw him walking the trails around town leadin' Babe and muttering. Got so most kids were scared of him; their Mama's used Ari as a threat to keep them in line. Told the kids Arizona Albertson was gonna stuff 'em in the pack on the mule's back and make 'em dig for his lost gold mine."

Lars swung around to stare up at Slim as he exclaimed, "Arizona Albertson? I thought his name was Harry and over the years folks slurred it over to 'Arry."

Slim chuckled, "Nuh-uh, Arizona was a nickname that got shortened to Ari, I've never even heard his real name. And he was a Dutchman, had an accent so thick you could cut it with a knife.

"Lars, do you remember how superstitious he was? Always crossed the street or hobbled indoors if he saw a black cat, never would get near a ladder and he always quoted little saying's or old wives tales like _'Red sky at morning, Sailors take warnin', Red sky at night, Sailor's delight'_. He always talked seriously about signs and portents too."

Lars nodded, smiling as he recalled other things Ari had done, like throwing salt over his left shoulder if any got spilled and saying the hoot of an owl foretold a death.

Slim quickly told Lars how crooks searching for the Lost Dutchman Mine, found a Durango silver spur and how Jess had forced the Senator to clear Slim of a murder charge. Then he told how they opened the spur to find a fragment of a map inside. Mort had heard a more detailed account of their mishaps in Jackson City at the time it happened. Slim finished his story by relating how the Senator was left with the spur and map, determined to find the other piece leading to the fabled treasure. "Lars, that was a little less than a year ago. But this map sure looks an awful lot like what I remember of the one we pulled outta that spur."

Mort frowned at the way Lars and Slim smiled at one another as they said, almost in unison, "The Lost Dutchman Mine."

Slim chimed in, "Superstitious Arizona Albertson!"

And laughing aloud, Lars finished with, ""Wyoming and the Laramie Range, not Arizona and the Superstition Mountains!"

His face deadly serious, Slim turned to the sheriff, "Mort, you've been on enough posses, questioned enough witnesses to understand how rumors get started and spread like wildfire. Lots of times you can't find a kernel of truth by the time the story's been told a few dozen times. The story of the Lost Dutchman Mine has had years to build into something totally different from the facts."

"Slim, I have to say you've got a pretty fair stack of evidence here, but I hope you're not buildin' on sand. And. . . I'll probably add fuel to the fire to tell ya I've heard some old timers call a prospector's mule an '_Arizona nightingale'_." Mort admitted, tugging at his earlobe.

Lars and Slim laughed long and loud, collapsing against each other. The two lanky cowboys tried to get themselves under control but snorted with laughter whenever Mort glanced their way.

The sheriff attempted to look stern, but then reluctantly joined in until Slim announced:

"Mort, I've started the ball rolling. I sent an advertisement by Mose on the morning stage."

"You what!" Mort Cory shouted at Slim, spluttering in alarm. Slim calmly waited out the storm, exactly as he had seen Jess do many a time when he was ranting at his partner over some rash scheme.

"You read the letter that came with the treasure map, they'll send something else of Jess's along with the next note. I'll be waiting in Laramie, Lars will look after things here, and you can be hurryin' the marshal and his men along." Slim settled back in his chair, looking smug. He picked up the little derringer and fit it into the pocket he had created in Lars's beat up old hat.

Sheriff Cory grumbled, but he knew they would, in the end, do exactly what Slim wanted. The sheriff found himself staring wide-eyed at Slim Sherman, ever the cool, logical one, with one hand resting on his gun, the other hooked into his gun belt. He looked for all the world like Jess Harper as he waited out the arguments and objections, till everybody came around to his way of thinking.

Mort had seen Slim's patience rub off on Jess to some extent. Sherman's calmness, his steady, even temper, his planning and thoughtfulness all had an influence, slowly allowing a wary, guarded, and essentially friendless man to come to rely on there being time beyond the immediate moment. Time to work through problems, and time, bit by bit, to allow Slim glimpses of that unyielding core of steel which served as Jess Harper's backbone: the set of rules which compelled Jess to never completely step over the line he had drawn for himself.

And, in much the same way, Jess's irrepressible joy in life, his ability to wring pleasure from mundane everyday tasks, had given Slim freedom to join in the fun and allowed him to throw off the shackles of responsibility which had been making him old before his time. Slim's strict moral compass, his insistence on considering consequences beyond the immediate crisis, his quiet strength and unshakable certainty in himself, and his partner, gradually led the two to form a relationship based on unquestioned trust.

Mort delighted in seeing a slow smile light up Slim's face as he occasionally kicked over the traces to join Jess and Andy in some mischief or basked in an afternoon spent fishin' and swimmin' and talkin' making the next weeks of hard, back-breaking labor, the natural order of things on a frontier ranch, go by a little easier.

Slim and Jess each provided light for the other's shadows and the Laramie lawman had realized long ago the passage of time had knitted their friendship into a bond stronger than most brothers. Working together as closely as they did, where mistakes could easily get one of them hurt or killed, had given them an uncanny ability to anticipate what the other was going to do.

'_Jess has the reputation of being a stubborn cuss,'_' thought Mort. _'But, I swear, Slim Sherman can give Jess a run for his money. Hardrock is about right. If Slim digs in his heels, hard-headed as a jack-ass and stubborn as that Baby Blue mule he was jawin' about, there's no turnin' him.'_

Staring hard at the tall man, the Laramie lawman considered, _'Well, the preacher's Sunday sermon was on having the faith of a grain of mustard seed to move mountains. And if ever there was a mountain of trouble for these two, this is it!' _

Sheriff Cory snorted,_ 'I think I hear the boulders beginnin' to crumble.'_

**Chapter 14 No Promises**

Jess turned his head as he heard a door open. Heavy footfalls, more than one person, crossed to his side.

"Mr. 'Arper," _the Voice_ said.

"Yeah, is it time for me to get to work?" Jess asked eagerly.

"Yes, Mr. 'Arper," came the sharp reply from Bear. "But you must agree to our conditions."

"You already have my word I won't attack your servants and I promised not to try to escape, to keep Slim safe. What more do you want from me?" Jess barked, sticking his chin out.

'_Uh-Uh, Boy. Be polite. . . be nice to the gentlemen. Go slow. Slow.'_ Slim's voice echoed in Jess's head and he relaxed, hoping to fool them into thinking he was thrilled to wait for Bear to continue_. _

'_Dang it, Slim, how do you do it? I'm ready to go for his throat. But buttoned up like I am there's not much else I can do, so, Pard, I'm listenin'.'_Jess was finding out how hard it was for him to behave like Slim, and, worse, to make his captors believe him.

Aloud he said only, "Want ta tell me 'bout them conditions?"

Bear immediately replied, "First, your oath still holds, Mr. 'Arper. You have given your word to not attempt an escape. Second, you will not try to discover my identity or any of my servants. Third, the documents you will be asked to verify are to remain secret. You are not to reveal anything you see here. Fourth, you will lead an expedition to recover the valuables you locate. Do you understand?"

Jess bit back an angry retort to answer in his best drawl, "Well, your first condition has already been agreed to, and I'm not in the habit of goin' back on my word. Second, I don't care who ya are, or your servants either if ya let me and Slim go and ferget ya ever saw us. Third, if they're your papers you keep 'em, I don't want 'em. And. . . if they ain't real, there's no reason for an expedition, is there?"

"Quite so, Mr. 'Arper."

His captors didn't realize he had not made any promises. Jess permitted himself a fleeting smile and a quick, silent thought, _'Thank ya, Slim'._

_Voice_ explained, "You must examine our documents to verify their accuracy. To do that, you should see and touch them. An ingenious device from your own prison system will keep you. . . ah. . . safe."

Bear roared an order in the strange language and Jess heard a sound like rocks rolling around. Another command and hands began to remove the bindings from his legs. A boot was slipped on his right foot and he was helped to stand. Jess's leg was lifted from the floor and something strapped across his boot. He tried to move, but could only drag his foot forward.

Silence. He tilted his head to listen, and sensed there was someone behind him; hands touched his back. As the restraints were loosened, Jess could move his arms for the first time in days. He groaned aloud; his arms and hands protesting his efforts to work the circulation back into them.

As soon as the pins and needles began to subside, Jess peeled away his blindfold. The light hurt his eyes and it was hard to focus after so long in the dark, but gradually the room began to take shape. Jess whirled to see who was behind him and succeeded in throwing himself to the floor. He peered up and was startled to find a mask staring back at him. "So that's how you're gonna keep me from recognizin' ya, huh? Pretty smart."

Jess reached toward the mask, as the person quickly darted away. He tried to stand, but only his left leg moved. He looked down and stiffened with surprise, realizing what the rumbling was and dismayed at the heavy iron strap locked over his foot.

"An Oregon boot!" Jess muttered out loud. He had seen them used on inmates being transported from one prison to another, as insurance against a convict making a break for freedom while in the tumbleweed wagon. But the reality of having what amounted to a cannon ball locked around his foot, made his stomach clench.

He tried to stand, but the iron boot was so heavy he couldn't drag it while lying down. He finally scooted on his backside until he could bend his knees and use the bedclothes to pull himself up. This was where _Voice_ and Bear had kept him tied up for so many days and it made his skin crawl as he took it all in.

There was a closed door with a folding screen in front of it, a steamer trunk sat beside a bed, a wash stand in the corner and near the screen, a table with a bench. A cup and plate perched on the edge of the trunk and a lantern sat in the middle of it. Books and a jumble of other items were on the table. No window. No landmarks to identify where in the world he might be.

He reached out to touch the cloth piled on the trunk. There were two open-ended tubes of fabric loosely held together with a long string, like he'd use to gather up the mouth of a feed sack. The string was designed to be laced tight and snub down a prisoner's arms. There were two more long lengths of yard goods thrown on the trunk and Jess realized they had held his legs. Handkerchiefs and leather pads made up the blindfold and gag.

Surprise and even shock greeted Jess at every turn. It was almost more than he could take in. What in the devil was he mixed up in?

'_Damn! Slim, I hope you're faring better'n me__cause I'm not sure which end's up. Maybe this'll make more sense after I look over the stuff stacked on the table yonder. Wonder if that's where the papers are?'_Jess somberly took in everything as his eyes made a slow circuit of the room.

He began to drag himself toward the table and the man in the mask quickly scrambled behind the screen. Jess paused as the door opened, but with the weight on his foot, there was no hope of getting to it.

The table held books, a ruler, quill and ink, paper, an hour glass, pencils and several round pock-marked rocks. Jess pulled the bench out so he could sit down. His leg and hip were already beginning to ache from the pull of the Oregon boot.

'_What are rocks, round ugly rocks at that, doin' here? I think Jonesy has some of these ringin' the vegetable garden out back. I remember Andy tellin' me about gatherin' 'em up and bringin' 'em back in the wagon. They have a special name, not just rock. He said some other stuff too, but I swear I don't remember all of it. Andy was always tellin' me somethin' new and excitin' when I first got to the ranch._'

Jess idly pushed one of the rocks out of his way and then made a grab for it as it rolled off the table. The rock hit the floor, hard, and broke open, revealing a glittering mass of clear crystals inside.

'_You've done it now, Harper! They ain't gonna like you breakin' up their rocks. Ya think you're doin' hard labor or somethin'? Makin' little rocks out'a big ones?'_

Despite himself Jess felt a grin splitting his face and laughter bubbling up inside. It might be one way to ease the tension in his gut, but by golly, there had to be better ones. He'd best do something to stop himself before he lost control and started laughing out loud; he and Slim sometimes did that, for no good reason. The thought of Slim was enough to sober him up in a heartbeat, and the urge to laugh disappeared as quickly as it had come.

Jess picked up the pieces of rock and loose crystals and laid them out on the table, uncertain why they would be important for verifying anything.

"_Modern Mining Practices"_ was the title of the first book Jess picked up. He looked for the author: John Shamion, Smith &amp; Fuller Publishing, issued in 1859. He pulled the rest of the stack toward him and opened each in turn. All of them had something to do with mining. The thin volume on the bottom had the intriguing title of _"Gold, Silver and Copper Mining, Treasures of the Western Territories"_. He opened it, turning the pages slowly, his lips moving to the cadence of the words.

**Chapter 15 The Laramie Gazette**

"I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I hate to wait!" Slim angrily kicked at a stool in the cell.

It was the day after the Laramie Gazette had been published with a classified advertisement containing only the letter "D" prominently displayed near the center of page four. According to Mort, the whole town was abuzz.

George Ellison, the Gazette's editor, refused to say anything, adding fuel to the fire of speculation concerning who placed it and what it meant. Slim had ensured the reporter's silence when he sent the notice with Mose, promising him an exclusive story after Jess had been freed. He dropped enough hints to whet George's curiosity and guarantee he would keep his promise to wait, making sure he knew Jess Harper's life hung in the balance. Mose had talked to Amos Hutchins and Wild Bill Ferguson in Cheyenne and understood the urgency, so his word had been added to Slim's.

It had been almost dark when Mort drove away from the ranch with Slim beside him, hunched over like an old man, Lars's ragged jacket and shabby hat as a disguise, his saddle and gear concealed in the McCormick crate. They made it to Laramie without incident and unloaded the crate at the Overland office. Slim slipped in through the back door of the jail, determined to remain hidden until they heard from the kidnappers again.

Neither of them had expected an answer on the day the Gazette was printed.

But the next day, Slim rushed to the window at every rumble of wheels and hurried Mort out to intercept the stage as it traveled toward the ranch. Nothing on the morning run, but in the afternoon, Mort came hurrying through the front door with a grin on his face. As soon as the door was shut and locked behind him, he called to Slim and whipped a long envelope out of his inside vest pocket. Slim grabbed it from him and tilted it to the light to read the postmark.

"This was mailed in Casper, Mort. It was postmarked the afternoon the Gazette was published. So it got here real fast." Slim turned the envelope over to reveal a wax seal like the others. He shook it in frustration, "See, Mort? It's like whoever is doing all this is taunting me. Daring me to try something, but knowin' all the time I don't dare risk Jess's life."

Slim tore open the end of the envelope, pulled out a wrinkled sheet of paper and laid it on the desk so Mort could read along with him. They stood side by side as they pored over the letter. Having scanned it twice, Mort began to gather up Slim's saddlebags and Winchester.

"Come on, Slim, you don't have much time. We're gonna have to get you back to the relay station, fast, before the stage to Rawlins leaves without you."

"Hold on, Mort. I. . .I don't think this is the message we were expecting." Slim slowly raised troubled eyes to stare at his old friend. He sat down heavily and propped his elbows on the desk, lacing his hands together and looking back down at the note.

"This isn't the same handwriting as the other two and they were written in ink, not pencil. All the other letters had something of Jess's with them. His hat and shirt in Cheyenne and his glove was in with the map. The last note, the one with the map, said there were others trying for the same prize. . . but unless there was somethin' of Jess's included, I was not to do anything it said or send out anything."

"Slim, are you sure? That letter says what they'll do to Jess if you don't catch the stage to Rawlins in the morning." Sheriff Cory's blood ran cold at the thought of the pain Jess would suffer if those threats were carried out.

"Mort, I think this is from one of those '_other factions_' trying to intercept information about The Lost Dutchman. They figure I've got it solved, and they're trying to horn in, get there first."

Mort gripped Slim's shoulder, feeling the tense muscles ripple under his hand, "Slim, I've gotta rely on your good judgment. You've been livin' with this day and night for a solid week. Sure as I'm standin' here, you won't do anything to endanger Jess's life more'n it already is. But, son. . . be certain as tomorrow's sunrise you're right."

With his chin resting on his hands, Slim replied, his voice tight with emotion, "It feels right, Mort. Will you follow the stage as it leaves Laramie, see if anyone tries to stop it? Or maybe ride along?" He came to his feet, as another possibility occurred to him, "Or. . . send Ernie. I have a feeling somebody's gonna jump the coach on the road to Rawlins."

"Good idea, Slim. Ernie can be on board and with Joe Thompson ridin' shotgun up top, they should be able to handle everything."

Ernie was back on the next stage, with a prisoner. Three men had stopped the coach outside of Red Bluff. One of them had questioned the passengers but when he discovered there was no Slim Sherman on board, he demanded they empty their pockets and hand over all their valuables. Joe Thompson had opened up with his rifle and Ernie's accuracy with his side-arm had quickly convinced the outlaws, the would-be thieves, to surrender. Leaving two jailed in Red Bluff, Ernie brought the leader back with him to Laramie.

Slim dodged into the back room while Sheriff Cory and Ernie questioned the man. He played dumb, until Slim stepped into his line of sight. The cold fire in Slim's eyes and the way his hands kept curling into fists quickly convinced the robber to spill the beans. He told them everything he knew, which wasn't much. Four days earlier, he and his brothers had been hired by an '_acquaintance_' of theirs named Boyd Kinsey to detain one Slim Sherman who was supposed to be a passenger on the morning stage to Rawlins. Mort had Ernie take the outlaw back to join his brothers.

And so they waited. Again. Slim becoming moodier and shorter-tempered as the hours crept by. He had to stay hidden, even scurrying to the back of the jail, whenever anyone came to talk to Sheriff Cory. '_Might as well be locked up, for all the good I'm doin','_ he muttered to himself. He rolled his shoulders impatiently, the waiting taking its toll on his nerves and self-control.

"Mort, I don't know how much more of this I can stand. Maybe they saw through my switch with Lars, maybe they won't send any more messages, maybe I've got Jess killed trying to outfox them, maybe. . . ." Slim agonized over his decision to leave the ranch instead of waiting as he had been told.

Hoping to sidetrack the young man's recriminations and guilt, the sheriff interrupted, "Slim, you've gotta see this through. You started the ball rollin' sure 'nough when you placed that advertisement. There's no way to back out. We've got too much ridin' on it. You were so peacock proud when I accused you of soundin' like Jess, ya need to start thinkin' like him too."

Mort brought supper over from Maudie's Café, including a generous helping of cherry pie for each of them. Slim finished the pie along with a final cup of coffee, liberally laced with red-eye from the bottle in Mort's bottom drawer. Sheriff Cory was determined Slim Sherman would sleep _this_ night; his face was haggard and his eyes sunken, his clothes hanging loose. And, soon enough, there were gentle snores issuing from the cell where Slim had bedded down.

Mort grinned as he quietly locked the cell door. '_Maybe this'll settle Slim down when he can't get out in the morning,'_ he chuckled_. __'At least I'll get his attention, so maybe he'll listen to me and quit scurryin' around this office like a fly that won't light!'_

Dawn brought the promise of a glorious summer day, cloudless and clear, with a steady breeze to ease the heat, as Slim sourly observed through the bars of his cell window. He had been startled, then angry and finally apologetic after he woke to discover he had been locked in by the man he considered, next to Jess, his best friend.

"Come on, Mort, I've been driving us both crazy, but you can let me out, promise."

Mort kept his back turned, working his way through a stack of wanted posters. Still not looking around, he poured himself a cup of coffee and finally approached the cell holding the young rancher. "Sorry, Slim, but I thought this might be the safest way to get your attention. No hard feelin's?"

"No hard feelin's." But Slim hastily stepped out of the cell as soon as Mort opened the barred door. "I'll go wash up, okay?"

Hours later, Mort was napping at his desk, while Slim once again paced to calm his nerves and peered out the window for close to the thousandth time.

"Mort. . . Mort," Slim hissed, "The stage is coming in fast. Maybe you better head over to the Overland office and see why Shorty is pushing the team so hard."

Mort's words were muffled by the Stetson covering his face, "It won't do to seem too anxious. I'll wait till I'm sure all the passengers are gone. The mail is the last thing sorted anyhow. . . . We better let any letters for the Sherman ranch be carried outta town by Mose." The lawman had not moved, his hands clasped across his stomach, tilted back in his chair, feet propped on the desk, seemingly undisturbed by Slim's incessant pacing and constant coffee refills.

"Schhhure, Mort, anything you say." Slim muttered.

"Sarcasm will get you nowhere, cowboy." Mort sailed his John B. in the general direction of the hatrack, dropped his feet to the floor and turned to glare at Slim. "You know I'm right, but it galls ya to admit it. Waitin' ain't my favorite pastime either, but wearin' a path to the window won't get you an answer one bit quicker. Do I need to put you back in the lock-up?"

"Sorry, Mort. But, Dad-gummit, look how long I've been cooped up in here!"

"Well, Slim, I'm as tired of you as you are of me." The sheriff grinned to take the edge off his words as the younger man ran his hands through his hair in the same anxious gesture he had used since early morning.

"That's not what I meant!" Slim exclaimed, as he spun around. He shook his head ruefully, "Alright, you win. I'll sit for a spell and keep my mouth shut. But, as soon as the coach heads out, you better be trailing along behind to see if there's any mail for the Sherman ranch." Slim pointed his finger at Mort, only half joking.

**Chapter 16 Deception**

The lamp on the steamer trunk began to dip and sputter, throwing wild shadows across the walls and ceiling. Jess quickly looked up as the flame guttered out, plunging the room into darkness. He froze in place, startled, but as his eyes became accustomed to the dark, he could make out the outline of the door, light coming in around the edges.

He stood up, yelling, "Hey, what's goin' on? The lamp's gone out. I can't see nothin'. Is anybody there? There's no light in here. Help!"

Jess decided to make as much commotion as he could. "I can't move with this dang cannon ball on my leg. I need some light before I fall and break my neck."

As he opened his mouth to shout again, there were the sounds of running feet stopping outside his prison and the click of a lock being turned. The square of light from the hallway grew and shrunk and then a shimmering, shifting flame was carried into the room, accompanied by the pungent odor of kerosene. The man with the mask walked to the trunk and exchanged a lighted lamp for the empty one. Jess had taken the opportunity to move, dragging the Oregon boot across the floor toward the folding screen and as the fellow got close, Jess was waiting for him.

Jess held his hands out, talking softly, like he would quiet a wall-eyed colt. "Hold on a minute. Can't you talk to me? I won't hurt ya. What're ya so scared of?"

The little man backed as far as he could get from Jess, turning his head from side to side, looking for a way to escape, obviously terrified. The lamp's chimney glass rattled in his shaking hands.

Jess spread his arms out to the side and dropped his hands, "Alright, I'm backin' away. You can go on out. I didn't mean to get ya in any trouble." He shuffled back to the bench while the man darted out the door.

Bear's voice, cold and uncompromising, came from the barred grille in the door, "You were warned, Mr. 'Arper, and you gave your oath not to attack my servants."

"I didn't attack anybody. I only tried to get him to talk to me. I ain't used to being by myself all the time." Jess's head came up and he strained to see the shadowy figure behind the metal.

"Your friend will answer for this. Mr. Sherman is the one who will suffer for your deceit!"

"No, not Slim, I'm the one did it, take it out on me. There was no harm done." Jess, sick at heart with the thought of Slim being hurt for what he had done, started dragging himself toward the door.

"Too late. Your promise is forfeit." Bear slammed the grille shut and strode down the hall toward two waiting figures. He jerked his head to the left and they disappeared into the room behind them.

"Wait a dad-gum minute! I didn't do nothin' wrong. I was tryin' to get that fella to talk to me, sure, but he didn't say a word. I never laid a hand on him." Jess shouted, wrath building inside him. He pounded at the door with his fists. But the grating was not opened and he heard no sounds close by.

Bear nodded at the two and William Doolin began striking an overstuffed chair with his leather belt while _Voice_ groaned or cried out, muffling the sounds in his sleeve.

With his ear against the door, Jess could faintly hear what sounded like blows, someone being beaten, and indistinct cries of pain. His body sagged forward, both hands flat against the wood.

"Slim," he whispered, "I'm sorry. I've been tryin' to be patient and wait like you do, but my temper gets the better of me ever' time."

Finally, no more sounds came from outside the door, the lamp had settled into a steady flame, and Jess slid to the floor with his legs outstretched. Too much had happened in too short a time. He had only been released from his restraints a few hours ago, had been able to see and move around for only a little while, had the weight of the metal boot pulling on his leg and the final straw, his best friend had been beaten, maybe tortured because of him.

Jess sat slumped on the floor, the only outward sign of his distress the nervous twitching of his hands. He raised his head to rest against the door as rage settled over him like a blanket, its warmth concentrated beneath his breastbone. Absently, he reached up and rubbed his chest. He fumed at the injustice of it, Slim bearing the pain of his actions; actions which had gained him nothing but regret. A tremor passed through Jess and he turned over to climb onto his hands and knees, his teeth clenched so tight the muscles jumped along his jaw.

'_I won't forget, Slim, I promise. We've both gotta get out of this and soon. No tellin' what else they got planned for us. Give me a little time, Pard. Gotta figure out what they're after and I've gotta find out where we are.'_

A few steps dragging the Oregon boot brought Jess to the table. He turned the hourglass to start the sand trickling. At least he would be able to judge the passage of time better than guessing. He shivered, with cold or reaction, and made his way to the bed to wrap a blanket around his shoulders. He picked up the lamp and carried it back with him, sat down and pulled over the book he had been reading.

Jess made sure to keep his shoulders slumped and his head bowed, his whole posture one of defeat. He would make them think he was cowed, beaten, and willing to do whatever they asked. _'__Pard, I've got to make 'em think they've won.'_

According to the sand, almost an hour had passed before Jess, sitting tensely on the bench, heard footsteps. The door opened and someone stepped into his prison. The door was shut and locked before a voice sounded from behind the screen.

"Do you believe me now?" Bear, gloating over Jess's hurt.

"I believed you before. I didn't attack your man; I only tried to talk to him. When I saw how scared he was, I backed away so's he could leave." Jess said evenly; no inflection in his voice, no emotion, no threat. He sat at the table, not offering to raise his head or stand up. He pitched his voice a little louder as he spoke again.

"Slim should never have had to pay for my mistake. I'll do what ya want. Let 'im be."

"Mr. 'Arper, you have learned a valuable lesson, remember it well, and it should not have to be repeated. I absolutely mean what I say; whether Mr. Sherman pays a further price depends only on you."

"Alright, if you won't let Slim leave, let's get on with provin' your papers. What do these rocks have to do with it? Or the books? What kind of proof do ya want? How come I'm the one you grabbed?"

"As my. . . ahh. . . associate explained to you, we need you to verify the accuracy and authenticity of certain records which have come into our hands. If you are as clever as we have been led to believe, you will soon understand why you were chosen and why your unique qualifications led us to you and Mr. Sherman."

"There ain't nothing in this stack of books for me to identify. I've looked. I've been around you long enough to know for sure you don't do nothin' without a reason!" Jess said harshly. He was fiercely holding on to his temper, hoping nothing of his turmoil reached his face.

"What do you want from me?" Jess implored, letting an edge of desperation creep into his voice.

"I want you to tell me if this is real or counterfeit, Mr. 'Arper, and if it is real, lead me to it."

Bill Doolin was waiting outside the door when Bear left Jess Harper's prison. He hurried down the hallway with his employer and into a room near the end.

Doolin gleefully rubbed his hands together and his words spilled out, "Didn't I tell ya? I told ya he would cave in if he thought that Sherman fella was in trouble. I know 'im too well. Don't care a fig for his own self, but let a friend need somethin', and there ain't nothing he won't do for 'em. I told ya! Didn't he do like I said he would, all the fight's gone outta him since he thinks Sherman paid for his doin's."

Bill anxiously studied his boss's face, "I drovered with him up from Texas and he would throw the littlest dogies over his saddle an' croon to 'em while their mama's bawled their fool heads off. But when he put 'em down, the calves would have got some strength back and be able to nurse and keep up with the herd. He's not near as tough as he lets on. He's a maverick and a loner, but if he took a likin' to ya, never was a better man to have at your back in a brawl or a shootout. It went exactly like I told ya, Mr. Li, didn't it?"

Bear calmly surveyed the excited gunman. "It remains to be seen. But he has done exactly as you described to this point. We will wait for results, but not for too long, Mr. Doolin, not for too long."

There had been rustlings behind the screen and Jess heard something roll across the floor. He turned in time to see the door open and close, his eyes drawn to a gold colored cylinder rolling rapidly over the uneven boards. As it got close, Jess grabbed it, lifting the tube to stare at the intricate detail engraved along its length.

A striking desert scene unfolded along and around the golden cylinder as Jess turned it over in his hands. There was a knob on one end and it tapered to a point on the other. Running his fingers over the surface, Jess could feel, but not see, a crack in the surface near the knob. He tried to turn the knob, but it wouldn't budge. So he tried turning it the other direction. . . nothing. He pulled it, pushed it.

Frustrated, Jess laid the tube on the table and stared at it. Everything else he had faced from these men had layers of deceit, under a crust of lies, overlaid with mystery, so this should be the same. He just needed to look at it differently.

Finally, he picked up the tube, stood it on the knob, and pushed against the pointed end with his palm. The cylinder flashed in the lamplight as it slowly spun and split in a twisting arc to fall into three pieces. He was left with a scrap of thin, yellowed paper and quickly closed his hand to keep it from falling. With grim satisfaction, he pushed the pieces of the cylinder to one side and smoothed out the flimsy document.

The hour glass had been turned three times. Jess had tilted the paper from side to side, top to bottom, even held it up to the lamp and looked at it from the back, to see if any writing could be seen by the flickering light. It looked familiar, and he should recognize it. Should. But didn't. He weighted down the edges and leaned back to glare at the offending document.

It was no use. He was much too tired to think anymore. Maybe he should pull the blanket up over his shoulders, lay his head down for a few minutes, rest his eyes and then start again. '_Maybe I'll ask for some coffee? Or a drink of water? Something to eat? A chance to shave and wash up?' _Jess's eyelids slowly closed_,_ _'__A shirt would sure be nice,'_ was his last thought as his breathing became deeper and more even.

**Chapter 17 Sam Peck**

Sam Peck. Samuel Jedidiah Peck. Heaven help the man who was foolish enough to call him Jedidiah or worse, Jed, to his face. Any of Sam's deputies could tell you so. And tell ya a whole lot more about Sam besides, if the night was quiet and the fire low and the moon givin' only light to see a man's shadow; not his face and not his eyes.

Never this side of perdition would any of 'em admit to lovin' Sam Peck. They might say respect or admire or took a shine to, but love was just too strong a word. You loved your Ma or your Pa, your sweetheart, if there was any gal within a hundred miles foolish enough to take a likin' to a cowboy rough as the ribs on a new washboard. A cowpuncher might even admit to lovin' his horse. . . .

But that's what it was, that's what they felt for Sam and he for them, no matter they never put a name to it.

All of nineteen, Sam Peck had rolled into Wichita Town, fresh off a cattle drive, thinkin' he was experienced enough to have hoar frost on his whiskers. Ridin' high, wide and handsome, he went lookin' for trouble right along with the rest of the drovers from the Circle Bar T. All of 'em thinkin' they had the right to tree that cowtown and any two-bit sheriff who dared git in their way.

Sam himself told gleefully how Elijah Middleton, sheriff of Wichita, took one look at that rowdy wild crew and cold cocked the nearest one with the butt of his scattergun. The nearest one bein' Samuel Jedediah Peck!

That old lawdog saw somethin' in Sam that Sam would have denied. But Lige, proving he was a six-bit or maybe even an eight-bit lawman, set about straightenin' Sam out. After a few hundred times of cuffin' him on the back of his hard head and reiteratin' with him to use his head for somethin' besides a hat rack, to stand up straight and prove he had somethin' better'n muddy water and rocks between his skull bones, Sam began to see himself as a touch more than a wild, restless, fiddle-footed, half-growed kid and took the battered tin badge Sheriff Middleton had offered him every day for four months.

That was ten years ago. Sam was Lige Middleton's deputy for three years, deputy US marshal for two years after that and for the last five years, come October, he had been a United States Territorial Marshal. Territorial was used loosely; he and his deputies had been south of the Mexican border, east to Kansas and Nebraska, west to California and north as far as Billings, Montana, in the last six months alone.

Mort Cory's telegram caught up with Marshal Peck and his deputies at the Territorial headquarters in Carson City, New Mexico. It had been waiting there for the last four days while they, according to Peck's deputy Rolly Stevens, who had a real flair for understatement, rode through the outskirts of Hades, otherwise known as the Chihuahuan desert, bringin' in the last five. . . living. . . members of the Spider Mullins bunch to meet their just rewards.

Peck had known Slim Sherman for several years. Slim was a member of the posse Sam led who cornered Big Carl Tanner and Slim had tackled Tanner as he lined up his sites on Sam's back. Slim got a broken wrist for his troubles but without doubt he had saved Sam's life, and that was a favor not to be forgotten.

Bunk Purcell and Rick Delgado, Peck's other deputies, shared a grin with Rolly as they listened to Sam swear eloquently and creatively, wondering if he would add any inventive new comments to his string of observations on outlaws in general and the Mullins gang in particular.

Sam had eventually vented his spleen and opinion of Spider Mullins and changed the subject, "Men, get some grub under your belts, pack supplies for a week, clean up if you've a mind to, and find us new mounts, all fast and fit, we're headin' for Laramie. I'll send Sheriff Cory a wire to let him know we're on our way, and tell him to keep that hard-headed Sherman snubbed to the post till we get there. We'll ride north to Denver and then take the iron horse as far as we can from there."

**Chapter 18 General Delivery**

This time when Sheriff Cory rapped at the door of the Laramie jail, Slim rushed to let him in and almost jerked Mort off his feet. He took a quick look outside the door before bolting it. Mort grinned as he handed Slim a long, narrow package wrapped in thick brown paper.

"I think this is what you've been expecting, Slim."

Slim's face lit up as he hastily turned the bulky package over. "This was mailed from Cheyenne, Mort. Everything seems to be leadin' back there."

The two men cleared the desk and Slim sliced through the twine which held the package closed. He unfolded the layers of paper to reveal a well-worn black leather gun belt. Slim lifted it free of the wrappings as his eyes met Mort's. Soberly, Mort fished a piece of stationery out of the holster and silently handed it to Slim.

All the color drained from Slim's face at the sight of Jess's rig. He knew beyond the shadow of a doubt Jess would never have given it up willingly, not without a fight.

Slim pursed his lips and grimly smoothed the letter on the desk.

"This is the same handwriting as the others, Mort. It's from the scum who have Jess. Maybe my gamble still has a chance of working," Slim exhaled noisily and took in a deep breath, finally able to breathe easier.

The note was brief and to the point: Slim was to return the map and his answer, by mail to Miss Angel Duvall, C/O General Delivery, Cheyenne, Wyoming Territory, and he was to remain at the ranch.

Slim had a package ready to mail. He had decided what he was going to send, and it did not include the original treasure map. In its place was a threat of his own with dire predictions for continuing to hold Jess Harper against his will. And he included clues so they understood he knew the location of the treasure they sought.

Jess wasn't sure what had awakened him, but he heard footsteps and the door closed as he bolted upright and blinked the sleep from his eyes. There was a tray on the corner of the table, and a wonderful aroma permeated the air. He glanced at the hour glass but all the sand had run out._ '__Guess that won't tell how long I slept.' _ His stomach might be the truer clock, and it was rumbling as the scent of hot food reached his nose.

Jess pulled the tray over, _'This sure smells good and I'm starved. There's even a cup of coffee.' _ He lit into the grub, reveling in the smell and taste of the first coffee he'd had in days.

'_Let's see if they'll let me get cleaned up and give me a shirt. I've got chilblains from the cold.'_ Jess rubbed his hand over his face_. '__These whiskers are almost mountain man length. It's been a good week since I've had a shave. Slim would call me a hard case for sure.'_

"Is anybody out there? I need to visit the privy," Jess called. He added to himself_, '__A few days ago, I would've been embarrassed to say anything, but now, I don't care.'_

Through the door, _Voice_ instructed, "Look in the bottom of the wash stand. You are not allowed outside this room."

"I didn't know," Jess made his answer sound apologetic.

"Uh, since you're here, could I have some water to wash up? I'm kinda ripe after all this time. And could I shave? A shirt or jacket would sure be nice, too. I'm cold since I'm not movin' around so much." Jess sat waiting for an answer, but none was forthcoming. The sound of conversation in the strange language echoed from outside his prison before the lattice clanged shut. After a few minutes, Jess shrugged, hitched the blanket tighter around his shoulders and dragged himself over to the wash stand.

Sometime later, the door opened. The little man with the mask came around the screen carrying a bowl and pitcher with steam rising from it. He had towels across one arm and clothes on the other. Jess watched as he cautiously approached, setting down the bowl and pitcher and laying the clothes on the bed. This time Jess moved away, spread his arms wide, and then turned his head so he was not looking directly at the diminutive man.

The man indicated Jess should move to the table, so he gingerly sat down on the bench. Moving behind him, the servant dipped a towel in the steaming water. Jess held up a finger in warning and put his hands over his sideburns, shaking his head from side to side. He stiffened as the hot towel was draped over his face. The masked man waited a few minutes before lathering Jess's face with a soapy brush and quickly shaved him, wiping Jess's face clean after he was finished.

Jess was then called over to the washstand. He warily complied, elated when the Oregon boot was unlocked from around his foot. The hot water and basin were carried over, and in a pantomime of scrubbing motions, the undersized fellow made Jess understand he was to wash himself. Bemused, Jess followed instructions and then dressed in the clean clothes. Jess's one boot was brought over and he slipped it on. Then, without waiting to be told, Jess stepped close to the Oregon boot and lifted his foot for it to be refastened.

The disguised man visibly relaxed as soon as the strap was locked around Jess's boot. He efficiently gathered up towels, clothes and dirty water, then slipped behind the screen, tapped on the door and it was opened for him to leave.

The pull of the heavy metal strap made Jess realize he would be better off sitting than standing, so he once again seated himself at the table and took up his study of the old map. His eyes scanned the document, but his mind was alight with thinking he had fooled them into believing he would not try to escape. He had seen so many opportunities slip past, but they had to think he had learned his lesson, given up for his partner's sake and would not make any move to get away.

Suddenly, the sound of gunfire filtered into Jess Harper's prison. A sharp whiff of gunsmoke and the stink of cordite filled the air. He leapt to his feet, but the weighted boot brought him up short; it was like pulling through quicksand. He heard more shots, then running feet and confused shouts. _'I'm a sittin' duck in here. Nowhere to hide or even get out of the line of fire. I reckon I can turn the table over or get under the mattress, but how much good will it do?'_

Sporadic gunfire sounded for a long time but from far away. Jess had hoped somebody might be on his trail, but he finally stopped expecting the cavalry to come bursting through the door to rescue him. After a couple turns of the hourglass without hearing more shots, he decided to get back to work, '_Alright, I'm gonna start from the top. Forget everythin' I've already looked at, begin like it's all brand new. I'm seein' everything for the first time.' _

He surveyed the furniture: bed, table, bench, commode, trunk. All of it was ordinary as an old boot. But, the steamer trunk was big, even for something intended to hold clothes for a long trip. Jess got to his feet, pulled himself over to it. He pushed it open, the lid scraping loudly over the warped floor boards and stared at the inside. It was different than any trunk he'd ever seen: there were no drawers or trays, no hooks to hang coat or trousers.

Shaking his head over that puzzle, he moved on to the bed. He peered under it and lifted the mattress. Nothing but a bed so far as he could tell. The commode was the same: a slop jar and empty drawer. With a sigh, he turned to look at the table and bench. They were made of rough wood, nothing fancy.

Jess was almost afraid to go near the screen in front of the door. What if his captors took his inspection as an escape attempt? What would they do to Slim? He finally contented himself with staring from a distance, examining every inch, but not touching. It, too, seemed commonplace, he had seen several in hotels, intended to offer ladies privacy to change clothes.

'_Well, back to the table. Check out all the stuff there again. Pens, paper to make notes? Write letters? Books on minin' and rocks. Rocks. ROCKS. I must have rocks in my head! But I don't understand how they're all connected.'_ Frustrated, Jess seized the first book from the stack and randomly opened it. The chapter explained how to use timber framing to safely shore up a deep mine. He read a few lines and then reached for the rock he had broken open.

'_Ol' Hardrock always paces as he's thinkin' somethin' through,'_ Jess reflected_, '__But this grapeshot at the end of my leg sorta puts the stops to that. I'd sure like to stretch out and rest m' leg, my back, too. Don't think I can swing my leg up on the bed with this hardware attached. So. . . I'll lower the bed so's I don't have to.'_

Jess scooted the heavy boot along the floor to the bedside and pulled the mattress and bedclothes onto the floor. Going back to the table, he carried first the lamp and the book he had been reading, then the broken rock and the map and set them on the floor. He lowered himself onto the mattress, and with a loud groan, stuffed pillows under his head and stretched out.

'_A-hh, better. Let me see if I can piece any of this foolishness together into somethin' that makes sense.'_

Jess ran his fingers over the sharp corners of the crystals leaning crazily on top of one another_. '__What was it Andy said? He told me about him and Jonesy takin' the team and wagon and makin' a day of it to pick up the. . . the. . . dag-nab it. What in tarnation did Andy call them cotton-pickin' rocks? There was a bunch of 'em strung out along a gully. . . . They was a curiosity Jonesy decided to use to edge the garden. I've never seen the pretty things inside.'_

Jess picked up the map. He unrolled it and stared, letting his eyes come unfocused, his mind drift. His finger traced the lines. One side was ragged; it had been torn, maybe a piece was missing? There were three separate trails on the old document. One was short and ended with a small circle, the largest resembled a river with smaller streams flowing into it, or maybe a tree with branches forking off from the main trunk. Beside one of the branches were symbols: wavy lines with three open-ended triangles above. The third was more crudely drawn, like whoever did it had been in a hurry; it was not as detailed and was smaller.

He stared at the paper for a long time, as his finger traced the path again and again. _'I know why this map seemed so familiar. . . I know what they're after and I know where. I've been tellin' myself I needed to look at things different, and it worked. Oh, man, Slim, you're not gonna believe me when I tell ya.'_

Quickly Jess pushed himself up,_ 'I have to make 'em let Slim go! I want to see him and check what kind of shape he's in after all the beatin' they've done on him. If he's hurt bad, there's gonna be hell to pay. I'm not sure how to keep 'em from grabbing him again, but I'll keep workin' on it as we go along.' _

He picked up the lamp and the map. Dragging his right leg over the uneven boards, he moved to the table. Setting the lamp down, Jess removed the smoky glass chimney.

"Hey, out there . . . come on in, I know what you're wantin'."

Only a minute or two went by before the grille was opened.

"Yes, Mr. 'Arper? Have you verified the document?" Jess recognized excitement in Bear's rough voice.

"Yeah, I have."

Skeptically, Bear inquired, "Indeed?"

"I know what you're lookin' for."

"Ahh, Mr. 'Arper, we _were_ correctly informed. You _are_ very resourceful and clever."

"I can take you there, but I have one condition."

"No! You are in no position to make demands. Remember the lesson Mr. Sherman received? It can happen again." Bear snapped, his last words dropping like stones.

Jess picked up the map and held it over the open flame of the coal oil lamp. "This can happen, too. All I'm askin' is for you to let Slim go. You don't need both of us, I'll lead you to your treasure." He waited for an answer but none came.

Until finally, a grudging reply, "What guarantee do we have you will guide us if Mr. Sherman is released?"

"I gave you my word. There's your guarantee. I don't care what you end up doin' with me, but let Slim go. He don't deserve any of the grief I've brought down on him." Jess laid the map on the table and replaced the lamp chimney. He shuffled around to the bench and sat down.

"Very well, Mr. 'Arper, do not allow any harm to come to that map. I will consult with my associate. But first, to make sure you and I understand each other, tell me exactly why we wanted you and what we expect to locate."

Bitterly, Jess answered, "The old scoundrel who called himself the Senator told you about Slim and me seein' this map and told you we could find The Lost Dutchman Mine. He snookered ya! Did he trick you into giving him money or promise you a piece of the treasure?"

There was no response from Bear. Jess tried again, "Don't matter. He's a con man from way back and when he got in trouble, he threw Slim and me at ya to save his worthless skin. You not sayin' anything proves it. But what I said still goes: I'll guide you to the Lost Dutchman if you set Slim free."

Metal screeched as the lattice was slammed shut. Time stretched on and on. Jess had begun to think his bluff had been called, but eventually the grate scraped open.

"Mr. 'Arper, your friend will be released after you give us a list of supplies for our expedition. Others are pursuing the same prize and we must get there first."

"Can I see Slim?"

"Perhaps, Mr. 'Arper. . . . But, after you prepare the list."

"Fast as I can," Jess reached for paper and pencil and began to laboriously write out all the equipment and supplies required to mount a mining expedition into the Laramie Mountains.

**Chapter 19 Midnight Ride**

Mort rode out to the ranch and had Lars forward Slim's package to Cheyenne. Back in Laramie, at dark, the lawman wished Slim good luck, shook his hand and heartily clapped him on the back, before ushering him out the rear door of the jail. Using every doorway and odd shadow for cover, Slim crept toward the livery stable.

Once mounted, he shoved his rifle into the boot and walked the long-legged bay quietly down the back streets of Laramie. When he figured they had gotten far enough out of town, Slim tapped the gelding with his spurs and the horse lifted into a ground-eating lope.

Slim rode all night, moonlight throwing stark black and silvery white shadows, leaving ghostly tracings of lace on the road from the canopy of trees overhead. He had to ease off the pace he would have liked to keep, both to save his horse and to make sure they didn't find a hole big enough to trip his mount and dump him off. Dawn was brightening the east when he reached Newman's Crossing, the new bridge timbers showing up white to steer him on toward Cheyenne.

Only a handful of store keepers were out, sweeping the boardwalks in front of their shops as Slim slowly walked his horse up Central Avenue. A few gave him a nod, which Slim returned. There was a stable at the edge of town and he roused the hostler, asked him to tend his mount, give him a bait of grain and rub him down. Flipping the man a coin, Slim winked at him and said, "Keep the change. Don't know how long I'll be in town."

He made a detour to a small building set well back from the street, waiting impatiently until the office opened. Slim quickly conducted his business, thanked the proprietor and sauntered on toward the rowdier section of town.

Walking up the steps of the White Elephant Saloon across Frontier Street from the post office, he casually glanced both directions before claiming one of the wooden chairs set under the porch overhang. Leaning the chair back on two legs, he pulled his hat down over his eyes, crossed his arms over his chest and settled back as though waiting for the saloon to open.

The post office was next door to the Overland Stage agency and Slim had some concern Amos Hutchins might recognize him, but there was no other way to be sure he saw all the comings and goings.

It had been a long, hot, boring day and it wasn't yet noon. A few people had been in to drop off or pick up mail, but mostly it had been an exercise in patience for Slim. He was hot and thirsty, getting hungry, and knew if he even offered to leave his post, his quarry would show up that very minute.

Slim's attention was beginning to wander and his head to nod, the warmth and quiet taking its toll after his all-night ride. A commotion of creaking leather, rattling harness and pounding hooves quickly brought his mind back to attention. Mose was bringing the stage in at a trot, swiftly stomping on the brake and sawing back on the reins, bellowing at the team to stop.

People began to converge in the dusty street, gossiping noisily as Mose wrapped the reins around the long brake handle. He lifted the bulging mail bag out of the driver's box and lobbed it down to Amos Hutchins. Slim had not moved, but his eyes were taking in every detail of the various townsfolk who were milling around, eagerly awaiting the mail. He pushed his battered hat back from over his eyes and tried not to stare directly at the raven-haired, vivacious young woman in the dark green riding habit, buckskin gloves tucked into the waist of her long, divided skirt. A black flat-top hat swung from one hand, her other hand resting on Marshal Thad Raines's arm as she strode down the street, laughing up at him as they talked.

'_Angel Duvall, with the town marshal. Sure looks cozy. No wonder Raines__didn't want to go searchin' for her. He didn't have to; looks like he's already made her acquaintance.'_ Slim let a scowl settle over his face, disgusted with both the marshal and himself. _'__I don't know whether to even let him know I'm in town. I need his help, but he could ruin everything by lettin' them know I'm on to 'em.'_

Any decision was soon taken out of Slim's hands. Thad Raines looked directly at Slim, nodded, tipped his hat and turned back to his attractive companion.

**Chapter 20 Slim has to make it to Rosie's Back Door**

Marshal Raines talked to Angel Duvall for a few minutes in front of the Post Office. Before they parted, he patted the small hand resting on his arm and gallantly kissed her fingertips. Angel headed inside and the Marshal walked on down the street, speaking to several of the townsfolk as he went, tipping his hat to the ladies, and finally turning into the first alleyway he passed.

Slim sank back into his chair and watched through half-closed eyes for Miss Duvall to come out of the post office. She emerged holding Slim's parcel. He dropped his chair onto all four legs and got ready to stand up when a whispered, "Sherman, stay where you are!" sounded behind him. "Don't turn around. Sit tight. I know where she's headed, but we need to talk before you take off after her." Slim recognized the marshal's voice so he reluctantly did what he was told.

"Wait until she's out of sight and then slip over to Rosie's. I'll meet you there." Slim nodded and tilted his chair back against the wall. His eyes followed Angel Duvall down the street until he lost sight of her in the crowd.

He waited another minute or two and then languidly uncoiled to slip down the alley beside the saloon. Glancing furtively over his shoulder, Slim made sure no one was following him before crossing the street and darting into yet another alleyway. As he skulked along, Slim heard an argument and the distinctive sound of a six-gun being cocked. He peered around a corner to see the Senator's rotund shape and fancy dress in a circle of roughly dressed gunmen.

One of the men, a hard-bitten gunslinger with a tied down holster and eye-catching studded gun belt, snarled, "Senator, you'd best be right about this gal. Your last pack of lies got three of my men killed and Buck won't be able to sit a horse for a good month. Them sentries was onto us the minute we showed ourselves at the mouth of that valley. If you're lyin' agin, it'll be the last one you ever tell, ya hear me?"

Slim was close enough to realize the Senator was being held prisoner by the men surrounding him. His arms were twisted up behind his back and his face showed clear signs of bruising.

Pompously, the Senator declared, "I assure you, my dear Kinsey, a true mother lode, a veritable bonanza of golden splendor, riches beyond your wildest dreams await all of us at the end of this day! Let us proceed with all haste, sir. The dear lady should not get too far ahead."

"_I was right!"_ Slim exulted, as he sank back out of sight. _"This proves I'm not crazy. I did figure it out. I knew the Senator had to be involved in this somehow. It's the only connection there could be between Jess and me and that map."_

Footsteps pounded down the hallway and skittered to a stop at the door to Jess's prison. The door was thrust open and men stumbled into the room, knocking over the screen and then making a leap at Jess. The first two pinned his arms and a third held his legs. It all happened so quickly, Jess had only a brief glimpse of the men confronting him. He barely had time to register their clothes, slanted dark eyes and short stature. _There_ was one of the missing pieces, the strange accent. _'It's like we heard on the Barbary Coast when me and Slim almost got shanghaied,'_Jess realized in the few seconds he had before trying to fight off his assailants.

The weight of the men attacking him bore Jess to the floor. The two who had his arms released one long enough for the cloth restraint to be pulled up to his shoulder. They rolled him onto his stomach, and held him until the other arm was secured.

Jess heard _Voice_ shouting above the din. Instantly there was quiet, the harsh breathing of the men who had taken Jess down the only sound. He felt hands at his legs and tried to strike out with his left foot, but there were too many.

_Voice_ spoke behind him, "Mr. 'Arper, lie still. I will explain what is happening."

Bear interrupted and began speaking rapidly in what Jess now realized was Chinese. The two men argued, their voices becoming more strident.

Finally _Voice_ continued in English, "We must move from this place and . . ."

Bear cut in, "You will be drugged and gagged."

Face down, held by in place by three men, Jess yelled, "I gave you my word I wouldn't try to escape. Why're ya doin' this? What if I choke before ya can untie me? I'll be no use to ya then. All your plannin's wasted. I thought I was gonna guide you to the mine."

"Mr. 'Arper, enough! This is the way you will travel. Nothing you say will change it," _Voice_ coolly explained.

Their footsteps faded as they walked from the room. The mattress was lifted onto the bed frame before Jess was picked up and thrown there too. No one answered his shouts. He figured the dead weight of the Oregon boot would probably break his leg if he tried to roll off the bed, so he lay tensely listening, trying to catch some sense of what was going on.

After what seemed several lifetimes, Jess was offered food, allowed to use the facilities, given water. Here was something else to fret over: _'Where are they takin' me? When are they comin' back to knock me out? Is Slim being moved too? Is Slim alright, is he safe?' _

He wore himself out tensing at each sound, straining to hear something, anything, before he finally dropped into a fitful sleep.

So, it was only a moment of startled reflex, when the door did open. There was no way for Jess to fight them as a gag was forced into his mouth. A cloth soaked in the sweet smelling drug was clamped over his nose. _'This was bad as waitin' to be hung'_, he thought sullenly. His dark blue eyes slid shut, the thick lashes fanning out on his cheeks, as he was swept down into darkness.

**Chapter 21 The Worthington Emporium**

Twice more Slim crossed avenues and ducked behind buildings before he finally arrived at Rose's back entrance. A small brass plate declared this to be The Worthington Emporium. Sidling up to the door, he knocked softly. The door opened a crack and a shapely arm reached out to grasp his hand. Miss Rose herself drew him into the dimly lit hallway.

Rose Worthington had arrived in Cheyenne shortly after the first false store-fronts went up in 1867. She was a handsome, and shrewd, businesswoman who determined the gentlemen in town and officers from Forts Laramie and Russell needed a place to obtain a hot bath, close shave, excellent steak, marvelous liquid libations, expensive cigars and. . . relaxation. Breakfast the next morning was _"on the house"_ and probably the reason Rosie's enjoyed so much repeat business.

Several of Miss Rose's finest, most delicate wares were arrayed on the back stairs. They tittered among themselves as the fair-haired, long-legged, blue-eyed cowboy came into view.

"Girls, this gentleman has business with the marshal. Scatter!"

Slim tipped his hat, an appreciative grin creasing his handsome face and with a courteous, "Miss Lou, Miss Rita, ladies," walked on past the stairs to a chorus of long sighs. One soft, "Aww, Slim," was exhaled by Miss Rita as she twirled a long tendril of flaxen hair along her finger and let her full, scarlet lips slip from an inviting smile to an attractive pout.

Miss Rose pulled Slim along behind her to a curtained opening. She held the drapery to one side and motioned for him to enter.

"Mr. Sherman, have you had any lunch today?" Rose inquired. Slim shook his head '_no_'. "I thought not, you are lookin' a mite peaked, so while you and Thad are talkin', I'll have Cook fix you up a bite. Can't have anythin' interferin' with those dimples, now can we?"

"No, Ma'am. Whatever you say." replied Slim, displaying those deep dents Miss Rose so admired.

"Coffee or somethin' stronger?"

"Coffee will be fine, Miss Rose."

She held out her hand for Slim's hat, and ushered him into her parlor.

Marshal Raines was relaxing on a long red settee, gold fringed pillows at his back, one knee crossed over the other, the amber liquid in his glass sparkling in the light. "You been here before, Sherman?"

"Some. . . . Word gets around. . . . We've heard of Rosie's even over in Laramie," Slim acknowledged, as he felt the heat rising in his face.

"Well, you didn't have to ask directions, I see." The marshal smirked as he enjoyed the big man's discomfort.

Slim cleared his throat and changed the subject. "What do you have to tell me, marshal?"

"The bottle's back there on the table. Help yourself, Slim, and then come sit down. There's a lot to catch you up on."

The marshal was right: a lot had happened since Slim had gone back home. Two days after Slim left Cheyenne, Angelique Duvalier had arrived from Denver, accompanied by her father, Count Jean Francois Desmond Duvalier. Count Duvalier had sent for the marshal to present his papers, diplomatic credentials from Washington with a personal note from the territorial governor to extend all courtesies and assistance to the Count. The story was he was searching the area for big game to '_secure a trophy worthy of his time and efforts_.'

The Count traveled with his daughter, three rough looking gunslinger types, two servants to wait on his every desire and a French military officer, Lieutenant Alain Roqueville, whose job it was to make sure the big game the Count wanted to kill was '_worthy_'. The gunmen and the officer had ridden into the surrounding mountains every day supposedly to look for tracks, but they had hired no local guide, and their efforts had so far not produced anything Count Jean Francois Desmond Duvalier was prepared to hunt.

Meanwhile, the Count with his high and mighty ways had angered most every Cheyenne citizen he had come into contact with and the marshal had his hands full trying to keep some of the locals from ventilating him. And Angelique Duvalier had latched herself onto Marshal Raines at every opportunity.

Raines crossed his arms and hooked his thumbs in his vest, "Sherman, I cut a fine figure of a man, and as such I am irresistible to the fairer sex, but even such an ideal catch as the marshal of an up and coming city like Cheyenne is not likely to secure the undivided attentions of someone as lovely as Miss Duvalier. No, siree-bob, I think it's likely she wants to know where I am and what I'm doin' all the time."

The marshal stretched both arms along the back of the sofa as he continued, "And that's exactly what I want from her, too. I want to know where she is and what she's doin' all the time. I have two of my deputies watchin' her and Count Duvalier. If they make any move, one will follow them and the other will come tell me where they're headed. . . . Alright, your turn. Do you have any idea where Jess is?"

Slim had not gotten a whiskey or seated himself beside the lawman. He remained standing, one hip cocked, right hand caressing the butt of his gun, as Raines completed his story. He briefly glanced down at the floor and then stared stonily at the marshal.

In a tightly controlled voice, Slim told the sheriff precisely how offended he was, "Marshal Raines, when I saw you coming down the street with Angel Duvall, I was ready to whip you right then and there. I figured you already knew her and that was the reason you didn't want to go searching when I first discovered she had checked out of the Plains. I even came to the conclusion you were in cahoots with whoever has grabbed Jess and I was ready to call you out! If it hadn't been for givin' myself away, showing I hadn't stayed at the ranch the way I was ordered, I would have, too. But, after hearin' you out, I reckon I've decided I can trust you."

He paused before continuing in a slightly friendlier tone of voice, "Miss Rose is bringin' me some food. I'll take a drink, but water or coffee, not whiskey. I've got an empty stomach and it's tied in knots, so I don't need the whiskey buzzin' around in my head."

Before Slim could sit down, Rita came in carrying a sandwich tray piled high with meat and cheese accompanied by a pitcher of water and porcelain jug of coffee. She set the plate beside Slim and daintily tucked a crisp, white napkin into his collar. Slim nodded his thanks and squeezed her hand as she trailed it up and over his chest.

Both men paused to watch her leave. Her lavender hair ribbon exactly matched the lilac dressing gown which she artfully allowed to slide down her arm, exposing a milky white shoulder. A subtle hint of her rose-scented cologne lingered in the air and her hips swayed seductively as she sashayed out of the room. Looking back over her shoulder, she blew Slim a kiss and closed the curtain. Slim shook his head sharply and muttered a regretful "Um, um" under his breath.

As he ate, Slim related what happened after he got back to the relay station, how Lars Svenson had taken his place, how Jess's glove and gun belt arrived by stage, and how he placed an advertisement in the Laramie Gazette.

The marshal's eyebrows shot up when Slim told him the instructions were for him to send a package to Angel Duvall care of General Delivery. He mentioned the treasure map but did not once say "Lost Dutchman Mine" or speculate on his theory of the kidnappers' ultimate goal. He told Raines a US Marshal and his deputies were on their way to help, related what he had seen and heard from the Senator and his henchmen in the street and finished by declaring he intended to follow Angelique Duvalier if she left town.

"I think she's going to meet whoever's got Jess and take the package I sent. I didn't send what they told me to, but it'll get their attention anyway. And I intend to be there to see it opened.

"Thad, send Mort Cory a telegram. He can tell you when Sam Peck and his deputies will get here. I'm anxious to catch up with the Duvaliers, it's been too hard to get to this point, so I sure don't want to chance 'em giving me the slip."

**Chapter 22 Count Duvalier**

Marshal Raines was as good as his word. He led Slim out the back door of Rosie's and over to the livery. Slim readied his gelding and they quickly mounted. Close to three miles out of town, the marshal held up his hand and guided them into the brush along the road.

A man materialized in front of them, spooking Slim's horse and causing him to rear. Slim quieted him with a firm hand and then gently patted his neck. They dismounted and slipped along behind the deputy until a large rambling stone house came into view.

The deputy placed his mouth close to Slim's ear and whispered Miss Duvalier, her father, and three others were in the first floor parlor at the left of the house. He pointed out two men on guard, one at the corner of the porch and the other lounging in the shadow of the barn.

Slim motioned he was going to circle the house and get inside. Marshal Raines put out a hand to stop him, but Slim passed him his hat, drew his revolver and crouching low, darted across to the back of the house. An open window caught his eye, and he holstered his gun to raise the sash. Slim eased into a dim hallway, placing his feet with care, testing each step to make sure the floor did not creak under his weight.

He had taken perhaps a dozen small steps before he began to hear voices. Stooping down, he glanced to each side, and crept closer. He could see part of a room, and hear a woman's voice. He tilted his head to listen, intent on her words.

"Papa, Sherman sent the package from Laramie yesterday, but it does not contain the map. Instead, he has sent a letter threatening to destroy the map if his friend, Jess Harper, is not released. It is obvious from what he has written he has deciphered the meaning of the parchment and the location of the lost mine."

A man's voice, heavily accented in French, declared, "Our friend, Mr. Li, is going to be _très fâché_. I thought we could take the map and arrive at the mine before Mr. Li, but this presents a definite hindrance to our plans."

"I have only a moment, Father. I will have to ride hard to get to Mr. Li's without any of them suspecting I have taken time to come here. Mr. Li or Mr. Wen may have more information than we think. They have spies everywhere and we are too close to success and riches beyond belief to let it slip through our grasp.

"Papa, be ready to leave on a moment's notice. Have Jacques and Louis get everything packed; we may have to leave very quickly. I will return or send word with Alain explaining our next step."

Slim crept back down the hall and crawled out through the same window he had entered. He carefully peered around the corner before crossing to the bushes where Marshal Raines and his deputy waited. They sneaked through the brush to a point out of the guards' hearing and Slim quietly filled them in on what he had learned.

He reached for his hat, "Marshal, thanks for all your help. Send Sam Peck and his men after me as soon as they get here. I'll blaze my trail as I go; it should make it faster for the ones followin'. I'm going to shadow Angelique Duvalier and hope she leads me straight to Jess's kidnappers."

"Good luck, Sherman. We'll keep an eye on Papa. I think my deputies and me will ride along when the Federal marshal shows up. We wouldn't want to miss the party! See you again. . . soon, I hope." Thad and his deputy melted into the shadows as Slim spurred his horse up the rough track.

**Chapter 23 What Would Jess Do?**

Angelique Duvalier turned northeast about a mile beyond the house. Slim spent two hours following the low hanging dust cloud charting the woman's path. The only time he was afraid he might have lost her trail was when she stayed on the main Denver road for a time, heading east toward Pine Bluffs, but she eventually turned north again on a narrow, wagon-rutted track.

As he cautiously rounded a curve in the overgrown trail, Slim saw a lush meadow spread out below; a spacious mountain dell, tucked between lofty peaks and split by a wide, meandering stream. There was a large cabin nestled at the right of the creek, a small waterfall in the distance. Over four dozen horses were penned in the corrals surrounding the barn and five huge Conestoga wagons were drawn up to one side. Slim turned his mount around and retraced his steps, dismounted and led the horse deep into the trees. There was good graze, so he hobbled the gelding, took field glasses from the saddlebag, grabbed his canteen and rifle and strode back toward the bluff.

Crawling on his belly, Slim cautiously slipped forward until he could train the glasses down into the big valley. He saw four guards from his vantage point at the top of the cliff but there was no one in sight at the house or barn. And of Miss Angelique Duvalier there was no glimpse, only a bruised track through the tall grass to mark her passage. He caught a movement off to the right, and concentrated his glasses there. A man in a strange costume was leading Miss Duvalier's horse toward the barn.

'_I'll head there, too,'_ Slim decided. He slung the field glasses over his shoulder and took off in a running crouch, popping up now and again to take a look. His progress was slow, but steady, and after creeping along for several minutes, Slim was able to see around an outcrop into the steep-walled valley. The sun was sinking behind the western hills, long shadows being cast on the opposite cliffs and dusk tempering the scene below.

Working by torchlight, several men and women, all of them in Oriental clothing, were rapidly loading the wagons, hauling boxes and trunks from hand to hand and readying them for travel.

Slim felt certain Angelique Duvalier had gone into the cabin. He desperately wanted to hear what she was going to tell the men she was meeting. Her father had called them Mr. Li and Mr. Wen; both sounded like Oriental names and the group here was definitely Chinese.

Hoping for a better vantage point, Slim dashed across a small clearing and rolled under the rails of the barn corral. The horses snorted and shied away from him, but he quickly crossed to the barn and flattened himself against the inner wall, close to the large open doors.

Scanning the barnyard, he saw a small storage shed closer to the cabin, a square of dim light from its window reflected onto the ground outside, and he made for the outbuilding, crouching below the window and then rising to peer inside. A single lantern hung overhead and in the jumble of discarded tools and harness, he thought he could find a more secure lookout. After another long searching glance, Slim eased his way to the front and pushed inside. There was room for him to stand at the edge of the heavy door and a good view of the cabin without anyone seeing him.

Slim stood quietly, waiting for his heart to quit hammering and his breathing to slow. His next move would get him to the house. He reached to pull the door open, as he heard a noise behind him. He spun, rifle cocked, but saw nothing_. __'I'm gettin' worse'n an old woman! Probably a mouse under some of this junk. This day, hell, this whole sorry business has me jumpin' at shadows. But. . . maybe I'll wait a little longer. I'm too close to start making mistakes.'_

Staring at the house, Slim saw a silhouette pass across one of the cabin windows and decided he would try there. As he started to leave, he again heard a rustling and this time a groan. He closed the door and let his eyes roam over the small shed. Amidst the heap of cast-offs at the back of the room, he saw a large trunk. Silently he stepped closer. Another moan, louder, and Slim realized the sound was coming from inside. Leaning his Winchester against the wall, Slim unlatched the trunk, pushing the lid open with both hands. Something began to fall out of it and horrified, Slim saw an unconscious man, bound and gagged. The man was fitted inside the trunk as though it was a chair; he was bent over at the waist, his head resting on a box built into the frame.

All thoughts of Angelique Duvalier forgotten, Slim caught the man as he fell, easing him to the dirt floor and turning him on his back. He pushed the dark hair off the man's forehead, "Good Lord! Jess! What the. . .?"

He jerked the gag down and dragged the wadding out of Jess's mouth, then pulled the blindfold off over his head, calling his name over and over, but Jess never answered. Slim became aware of a strong, sweet odor. Searching his memory, he identified it as chloroform; the distinctive scent could be nothing else.

Stunned, Slim straightened Jess out on the floor. There was a dark shadow of beard, purple smudges under his eyes, and a blue tinge on his lips. He had no boots or shirt, only long johns and tan Levis, dirty socks on his feet. There were long lengths of fabric wound around Jess's legs and Slim could see some sort of sleeves covering his arms.

Try as he might, Slim could not rouse him, Jess's head lolled from side to side, limp as a rag doll, with no sign of consciousness. He patted Jess's cheeks, shook him by the shoulders and finally sloshed water from the canteen onto his face without getting any response. But Slim had heard something, so Jess must be waking up. He knew Jess would be sick as he came to; it had happened before. And if his kidnappers knew that too, they would soon be arriving to check on their captive.

'_Alright, Sherman. What would Jess do?'_

Kneeling beside his unconscious friend, Slim rapidly went through his options. He couldn't let himself be captured, he couldn't let Angelique Duvalier or the Oriental men find out he had discovered their hideout; he couldn't carry Jess up the steep footpath out of the valley, not without a strong chance of getting caught; and if they discovered their prisoner was missing, it would raise a cry in the whole camp. Though it tore him up to even consider it, Slim knew he would have to leave Jess where he was. He was going to have to be as ruthless as the kidnappers, as hardnosed as Jess when the occasion demanded it. Slim had no time to agonize over his decision.

Reaching into his pocket, Slim pulled out his knife and slipped it into Jess's right hand, curling his fingers around the handle. Jess's hand fell open, too lax to grip it, so Slim wedged the knife in the front pocket of his jeans. Working quickly, he picked up the discarded blindfold and leather pads and put them back in place, a scowl on his face and his mouth set in a grim line. The wadding he stuffed back in Jess's mouth and tied the handkerchief over it.

Slim picked Jess up and tucked him into the trunk, carefully positioning his head to rest on the wooden support, "Sorry, Pard. I came to rescue you, but I didn't think it would mean I had to leave you with these crazy people. I'll be back. I hope you realize where the knife came from, and I'll bet you're gonna be real mad at me when you understand I left you here. But, Jess. . . there's not much else I can do." Slim rested his hand on Jess's shoulder for a second, and then regretfully closed and latched the trunk. He picked up his rifle and returned to the door.

'_Jess is gonna be mad, but he's been ticked off before; he'll just have to get over it. . . . _ _I need to watch to make sure somebody comes to let__him out. He'll choke to death if nobody's here to help when he does wake up.'_

As it was, Slim barely had time to duck out the door before he heard voices and then footsteps crunching across the yard toward the little outbuilding where he had left Jess_. _His mind was in turmoil from the thought of Jess stuffed into a steamer trunk.

The anger that had been growing at this disruption of their lives and the sheer audacity of kidnapping his partner concentrated into fury at Angelique Duvalier.

'_All this could have been prevented if I had only realized what was in the trunk when I saw it in Angel Duvall's hotel room. That woman sure has a lesson coming. And I intend to be the one to deliver it. __ Wonder how she'd like a dose of her own medicine? Knock __her__ out with chloroform. Will it make __her__ sick as she comes to? What if I was to stuff her in a blasted trunk while she's awake? Put __her__ in jail, let __her__ pound rocks, swing a sledge hammer, how pretty will she be then?'_

The whole time Slim crouched beside the storage shed, overhearing the rude comments and laughter while his partner gagged and retched as he regained consciousness, he mulled over what he could do to make Angelique Duvalier pay for her part in Jess's kidnapping. How miserable he could make her, how much he could scare her. . . and her father._ 'Prison, hard labor, bread and water', _he kept adding to the list.

By his reckoning, about an hour passed before Slim saw three men and a woman come out of the shed with Jess stumbling along between them. His arms were still tight against his sides and the blindfold covered his eyes.

He faltered after only a few steps, weakly muttering, "Let me be. Sick. . . I'm gonna. . ." and collapsed in a heap.

Bill Doolin picked Jess up and slung him over his shoulder as the whole procession continued toward the cabin. The callous way they treated his partner drove all thoughts of caution out of Slim's head. The fire blazing from his eyes could have melted the hinges of hades.

**Chapter 24 Turning the Tables**

'_I've gotta get him outta here! No matter what. No way am I leaving him with them a minute longer. I can't wait for Sam Peck.'_ The trick was gonna be how to pry Jess out of their clutches. The night was slipping away and Slim needed to quickly find a solution to free his partner.

The wrath Slim had earlier felt toward Angelique Duvalier expanded into a white-hot rage at the whole sorry affair and the abuse Jess had suffered at the hands of a ruthless band of thieves. He laid down his rifle, and releasing the leather thong holding his gun in place, drew his revolver. He thumbed back the hammer as he stalked fearlessly across the yard and up onto the porch, making no effort to be quiet. Slim kicked the front door open and reached to collar a plump Chinese man dressed in rich looking robes.

Angelique Duvalier screamed shrilly as the cabin door crashed back against the wall, trapping the gunslinger who had carried Jess. Slim caught the Chinese man in a head lock and placed his back against the door to keep Bill Doolin confined.

"Doolin, throw out your gun!" Slim demanded. After a few seconds when there was no clatter of hardware, Slim leaned forward and then repeatedly used his heel to push, hard, against the door until Doolin sagged down in the corner.

The others in the room, over a dozen all told, had frozen in place as the door was thrown open, but they began to recover and move toward Slim and the obese man he held in one arm. "Nope, not a good idea. Everybody stand easy. I'll tell you if you can move."

There were too many people in the way for him to see his partner, so he called out, "Jess! Jess Harper! Pard, can you hear me?"

Jess's ragged voice struggled to answer, "Here, Slim. Get outta here before they get hold of ya again."

"Jess, they never had me. I've come to take you home."

Sighting in on the two between himself and Jess, Slim ordered, motioning with his gun, "Alright, Mister, you move over to the wall behind you, but slow and easy-like. And you, _Miss_ Duvalier, back up till you can reach Jess and take off his blindfold."

His voice had an edge as he continued, "All of you better remember I'm mad as hell, so it'd be best not to cross me."

Slim could see Jess lying on a floor pallet, Angelique Duvalier kneeling beside him. Jess turned his head toward Slim, frowning as the light assaulted his eyes; he seemed groggy, not really aware of what was happening.

"Untie my partner and help him up, but you better not make any sudden moves or you risk joining your namesakes."

Angelique Duvalier gaped at the angry man but hurried to do as she was told, lifting Jess to a sitting position so she could remove the laces securing his arms. When Jess was free, she helped him to his feet and let him lean against the wall behind them.

Standing on his own, a slow smile lit up his lean face. "Pard, you sure are a sight for sore eyes."

Slim nodded; the look which passed between them spoke a thousand words.

"Jess, think you can walk well enough for us to get outta here?"

"Sure, Slim. I can do anythin' I have to, you know that." Jess began to weave his way unsteadily toward the door, only stopping to relieve one of the men of his sidearm. He checked to make sure it was loaded and then joined Slim, his restless gun swinging from side to side.

Slim's corpulent prisoner began to tremble, and Slim spared a glance downward expecting to see him on the verge of passing out, but what he saw was anger suffusing the florid face. A torrent of angry sound issued from the man's mouth and the Chinese men and women in the room began to advance on Slim and Jess. Mr. Li started to raise his hands to grasp Slim's arm, but after Slim shook him hard and tightened his grip, the man's arms fell back to his sides.

"Stop!" Slim thundered, "Your boss is going to see us safely outta here. Any sudden moves and he's the first one who's gonna get shot."

He raised his gun to rest against the man's temple. "Jess, back us outta here and head to the left. Mister, you better tell your people I mean business, this six-shooter is itchin' to go off!"

Nodding at Slim, Jess covered the room as he slowly backed out the cabin door. Slim had taken only two steps before he heard scuffling on the porch and a strangled yelp from Jess. He dragged his portly prisoner out the door to face one of the biggest men he had ever seen.

Slim's eyes traveled upward taking in a huge mountain of a man, towering a full head over his own six foot plus. He had Jess wrapped in a bear hug, feet swinging several inches above the ground. One meaty hand was clutching Jess's neck as the other easily wrestled the gun away.

Slim's prisoner tried to take advantage of his amazement to escape, but Slim quickly hauled him back in place. "Tell that big baboon to let him go or I'll blow your head off!"

Jess was hanging limply in the gigantic man's grip.

"No, Mr. Sherman, I do not think you will. One word from me and Gang will break Mr. 'Arper's neck."

"Yeah, but you won't be around to see it," Slim threatened, gesturing with the pistol, "And then I'll shoot him. He ain't so big he won't stop a bullet!"

From inside the house, Bill Doolin spoke up as he edged around the door frame, gun drawn, "None of 'em except Mr. Li and Mr. Wen understand anything ya say, Sherman. Ya better do what he tells ya. Mr. Li is a whole lot more than these men's boss; he's more like their king or somethin' and they'll do what he says no matter the cost to theirselves."

Mr. Li calmly spoke again, "After all your efforts to find your friend alive, is it going to end with his death now, Mr. Sherman? The decision is yours."

His eyes smoldering, Slim hesitated for several seconds, "Yeah, I reckon it is." He eased the hammer on his gun and drawing himself up to his full height, took a deep breath, and released Li.

Slim eyed the tall, skinny gunman up and down before reversing his Colt to hand it, butt first, to Bill Doolin, "Always has been."

At a word from Li, Gang let Jess's feet drop to the porch. Jess bent over, gasping, trying to draw air into his starved lungs. He gulped noisily and then began to cough as color slowly returned to his face.

Slim's eyes darted from Li to Doolin, "Can I go help him?"

"Go ahead, Sherman. But I owe ya one, so no funny business. Don't get sudden on me or I might forget Mr. Li wants ya in one piece!" demanded Bill Doolin as he motioned with his pistol for Slim to move across the porch.

Slim brushed past him to grasp Jess under the arms and lift him to his feet. Jess was wheezing, his breathing rapid, and he was shivering with cold as he lifted a shaky hand to his throat.

"Easy, Jess. Take deep breaths. Let me check your neck, Pard. Can you stand by yourself yet?" Slim didn't wait for an answer, but released his hold on Jess long enough to slip out of his jacket and drape it over his friend's shoulders before once more extending an arm in support.

To reassert his authority, Mr. Li sardonically proclaimed, "Gentlemen, I think it best for all of us to move into the house to conduct our business." He bowed them inside. "Mr. Doolin, keep your firearm trained on our guests and we should go to Mr. 'Arper's quarters immediately."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 25 And Back Again**

Slim guided Jess down a hallway to where Bill Doolin waited beside an open door. Once in the room, Slim sat Jess down on a wooden bench beside a rough table piled with a variety of familiar objects. As Jess looked around, he became more and more agitated.

"You told me I was bein' moved! That was the reason for knockin' me out again. What's the idea?" Jess had been regaining his strength and he was becoming more alert as the drug wore off. "What'd ya think blowin' all that smoke would accomplish? This is the same rotten prison you've kept me in all along."

He turned to Slim and hurriedly asked, "Are you sure they didn't beat the livin' daylights outta you around three days ago? They let me think they got you at the same time they took me."

Mr. Li interrupted before Slim could answer, "Enough! Silence unless you have permission to speak, or I will have you gagged," but Slim shook his head '_no_' anyway.

Jess subsided, knowing the threat was real, but his vivid blue eyes continued to flash at both Li and Doolin.

A small Oriental man, as tiny as Li was fat, entered the room. "Ah, Mr. Li, we seem to suddenly have an abundance of riches," he jeered.

Both Slim and Jess stared at him, but when he spoke, Jess recognized him as the one he had christened "_Voice_";

"What do you think our best course of action will be, Mr. Wen, to make use of this additional asset," smoothly inquired Li.

Mr. Wen did not answer right away, but clapped his hands and motioned a line of servants into the room. Each of them carried some article of furniture and Wen arranged a rug, footstool, chair, table and lamp at one side of the small chamber. When all was ready, Mr. Li gathered his robes and sighing, settled himself in the ornate chair. He signaled for Angelique Duvalier to take a seat on the small stool beside him.

As the two men began their conversation in rapid-fire Chinese, Slim remained standing beside Jess, rocking back on his heels as he memorized the room. He clasped his hands behind his back, not looking at Jess. But as the discussion raged on, Slim finally took off his hat and dropped it, on its side, directly in front of his partner before straddling the bench and tucking his long legs under the table.

Jess stiffened for a moment, then reaching inside, slid something from the hat to the pocket of Slim's coat.

Eventually, the two Oriental men ended their exchange and resumed speaking in English. Mr. Wen told Bill Doolin to keep Slim and Jess covered with his firearm, and then turning to the two friends, he said, "Mr. 'Arper, you have thought all along we captured both you and Mr. Sherman, so you can see what would have happened if we were indeed holding him. You can even do the honors, else Gang will secure Mr. Sherman for us."

Jess opened his mouth to protest, but Li interrupted with an imperious wave of his hand, "We have had this dispute before, Mr. 'Arper. I absolutely mean everything I say. The beating you thought Mr. Sherman endured can really happen. . . and you can be a witness to it."

"Hey, who do you think you are?" Slim shot to his feet and advanced toward Li and Wen.

"Slim, stop!" Jess hissed, "Hear him out."

"There is nothing more to say, Mr. 'Arper. Our wagons are loaded and we are prepared to move out at dawn," Li informed them.

"Slim can help me, he knows the territory leadin' to your treasure better'n anyone," Jess declared.

"Not a snowball's chance in hell, Harper." came from Doolin.

"No, he will take _your_ place. You are to lead the expedition, exactly as we planned before your hot-headed friend arrived here tonight," was Li's reply.

Comprehension dawned as Slim realized what Li meant by _'Gang will secure Mr. Sherman for us'. _He challenged Li, holding his gaze and advancing on the corpulent Chinese man: "I'll take Jess's place; I've done it before and he's done the same for me. That's what friends do: anything that's needed, anytime it's necessary."

Li returned Slim's glare, but Slim's anger drove him recklessly on, "I found Jess in that trunk you locked him in. If he'd not been unconscious from the drugs you forced on him, I'd have taken him out right then. I saw what you'd done to him, how he was tied up. And gagged. And blindfolded. Worse than you'd do to an animal. And I got his belongings along with your messages, so I know what to expect. You don't scare me. I set out to find my partner and that's exactly what I did."

He raked the haughty Mr. Li up and down with his eyes, before declaring, "I hobbled my horse and left my gear in a meadow at the top of the south wall."

Contempt dripping from his voice, Slim added, "Send one of your servants, or should I say slaves, to pick him up. Jess has a shirt in the saddlebag and his gun belt and hat are tied to the horn. I was determined to find him and I came prepared."

Slim's voice rang with certainty, "You were cheated and that's something that never happened before, did it, Li? No one ever dared till now. You've always been the one cheating, the one taking, the one ridin' roughshod over everything in your path. The Senator damaged your pride. Vengeance is your motive, not wealth! Payback is more important to you than any treasure you find. You don't care who it hurts or who gets pushed around if you get your revenge."

And then more softly, "You don't care how many lives you upend or who you put in danger, your selfish pride is all that matters. You control these men now, but what about the future, Li? What happens after they get a taste of the freedom this land offers?"

Glancing around the room, and accepting the inevitable, Slim sought out his friend. He locked his sky blue eyes onto Jess's darker ones.

Jess had to keep swallowing the lump in his throat. He felt his own eyes sting and saw fear flicker behind Slim's to be replaced by his fine courage and finer convictions. Staring hard at Jess, Slim shrugged off Gang's hands and reached to slip the tiedown on his holster, unbuckle his gun belt and unship his belt, letting them fall behind him.

Slim's eyes bored into Jess, willing him to understand more than the words he spoke, "In your country, Li, an accident of birth allowed you the position you hold, but here in America, every man has an equal opportunity to find his own way, his own freedoms. We fought a war with England to secure those freedoms as this country began and we've just gone through a bloody Civil War to keep those freedoms intact."

He untied his bandana and shrugged out of his shirt, dropping each to the floor, "Our laws are not for a privileged few, but benefit us all, no matter the background. We struggle to offer equal justice whether born rich or poor, privileged or orphaned. You may be used to taking what you want without regard for law or other people and you've faced no consequences, but in our country, might does not make right, and you will eventually pay for your crimes."

Jess Harper filled with pride in this man he knew almost as well as he knew himself; Slim's sense of justice, bravery and pure stubbornness had seen them through other scrapes and would surely carry them through this.

Daring. . . Slim had learned to match Jess dare for dare. Courage and integrity they possessed in equal measure. But trust: that was Slim's part, his offering to Jess, and Jess had come to accept, on faith, no-matter-what, Slim would back him, believe in him, steadfastly support him.

What was it _Voice_ had said? '. . . _By your sacred honor_!' That was Jess's duty, his gift, his responsibility. Honor _was_ sacred, once tarnished, how could it be regained? What would be the price to restore dignity? It was Jess's sacred honor at stake here. He would, by all he held dear, make sure Slim survived Li's madness, even if he didn't.

Serenely, Li replied, "A handsome speech, impassioned and a splendid sentiment, but it makes not one bit of difference for today, or tomorrow, Mr. Sherman. I will have my prize, and your friend will lead me to it or face his own consequences. You are both my prisoners and I make the decisions."

"No, Li, you _took_ nothing from me. It was _my_ choice, I gave it willingly. On the inside, where it counts, we're still free!" Slim declared. He stood ramrod straight, and Jess could see resolve and determination in his unyielding stance.

Steepling his hands together, Mr. Li nodded before intoning, "Separately, you are each dangerous men, and a man who can state his principles and beliefs so clearly, doubly so, but together. . . . Together, Mr. Sherman, you and Mr. 'Arper are truly formidable adversaries."

Then, as his face flushed a deep red, Li lived up to Jess's nickname for him and growled, "Finish it, Wen! We leave at dawn," and leaned back in his lavish chair to watch the proceedings.

Bill Doolin dragged Jess away from Slim, breaking eye contact between the two. He pushed Jess back with an arm across his chest as Jess strained toward his friend.

A shudder passed through Slim but he stood steady, staring straight ahead as Gang held him while two men worked loose sleeves up to his shoulders and pulled the laces to lash his arms down tightly.

When he realized they were tying Slim's arms down as they had earlier tied his, the hair lifted on the back of Jess's neck. He tensed, ready to spring to his friend's defense, but Slim, reading him as always, shook his head, "No, Jess, the odds . . ." as Wen slapped a cloth across his face. Slim whipped his head from side to side, stretching his neck up and back even as his knees began to sag and his efforts to escape the drug's effects became more feeble.

A low moan came from the back of Jess's throat, "Slim, don't fight it! You're only drawin' in more when you struggle so."

Gang caught Slim as he sank to the floor and at a word from Wen, carried him to the bed. The lone Chinese woman in the room, graying hair pulled tightly into a bun, checked Slim's eyes with short careworn fingers and placed her cheek close to his lips. She made sure his legs were securely wrapped, then nodded to Li before bowing herself out the door.

When Slim stopped struggling, so did Jess. He stood watching silently as the wretched little room emptied. In a matter of seconds, only Li, Wen, Jess and Doolin remained. Angelique Duvalier had shrunk back against the wall, her face white as paper, never uttering a sound.

Jess made his way over to satisfy himself Slim was breathing. He laid his hand over Slim's heart to feel it beating slow and even, moved to check the pulse at his throat and then turned Slim's face from the wall.

Glaring from one man to the next, Jess spat out, "I figure what he told you comes pretty near the truth, it's close to what I had puzzled out myself. Take a good look, all of ya. Not one of you can hold a candle to him. A finer man than Slim Sherman you won't find anywhere."

Jabbing himself in the chest with his thumb, Jess continued, "And if any harm comes to him by what you've done, it's me you'll answer to. . . . Now, where do I sleep? We need to get an early start in the mornin'."

Bill Doolin turned his startled laugh into a cough, hiding his smile behind his hand. That was Harper all right. About the time you thought you had him pegged, he did something so all-fired unexpected, you were left scratching your head in disbelief.

**Chapter 26 Getting Reacquainted**

Dumbstruck! Was the first word which crossed William C. Doolin's mind when he saw Li and Wen staring in openmouthed amazement at Harper. They evidently had never encountered anybody quite like him before. And Doolin was inwardly chuckling at the abrupt change in Harper after he had made sure Sherman was breathing. Neither of his employers seemed inclined to tell Jess where he could bed down, so Doolin took it upon himself to get things moving.

"I'll let Harper bunk with me. Gang can keep watch if you want, Mr. Li," Bill nodded toward the bed where Slim lay, "but so long as you make sure to keep Sherman buckled up, Harper ain't goin' nowhere."

After getting Mr. Li's agreement, Wen waved Doolin out of the room and Bill could hear them speaking urgently as he took Jess's arm and escorted him out of the house. He pushed Jess into a well-lit bunkhouse set close to the barn. Harper had stumbled a couple of times as Doolin led him across the yard and did not offer any resistance as he sat him down at one of the long trestle tables in the middle of the room.

Jess looked around the room before quietly asking, "Bill, can I get a drink from the bucket over there?"

"I'll get it, Jess, you sit there for a few minutes. I'm surprised you recognize me. It's been a few years, huh?"

"Yeah, I remember you, Bill. Vint Bonnor ramrodded the last herd I helped push north, not been back to Laredo since. You left the drive at a border town near Red River, didn't ya?"

"Naw, I got hurt north of Cimarron City. Been lots of water under the bridge, so to speak, since then," Doolin lifted the tin cup of water to emphasize his words and Jess accepted it gratefully, dipping his head in thanks. "What with all the changes after the War, I kinda lost track of most ever'body."

"Me too, Bill," Jess rubbed his hand across his eyes and on up to push the black waves off his forehead. "Look, I'm almost done in. Can I lay down somewhere? My belly ain't quieted down and if that Mr. Li expects to start at dawn, I've gotta rest for at least a little while." He grimaced as he rubbed his hand over his stomach.

"Sure, Jess. Would eatin' somethin' help? You gotta be plumb empty after pukin' the way you did."

"Anything might help, if I can choke it down. Or coffee?" Jess sat up straighter at the thought of a hot cup of Arbuckles, strong enough to walk over and pour itself in the mug.

"I'll check the warmin' oven, see what's left. And there should be coffee even though most of the men around here drink tea."

"I tried tea in 'Frisco, no thanks," retorted Jess. He peered up at Doolin before glancing back over his shoulder, gauging the distance between himself and the door.

Standing by the stove, putting bread and butter on a plate, Bill called, "Better sit still, Jess. Gang is on guard outside and he won't understand anything but breakin' you right in half."

"I have to try, Bill. I'll do whatever it takes to make sure Slim Sherman comes outta this alive."

"I figured so. . . but, Harper, you gotta believe me! I promise you Mr. Li's gonna come out on top, no matter what. I've been workin' for him for over two years and he ain't never been bested by nobody. That Senator fella thinks he's got away scot-free but he better be lookin' over his shoulder ever' minute of ever' day. Li never forgets and what's more, he never forgives. If he didn't think the old fox might come up with some answers concernin' the Lost Dutchman he'd be six foot under right now."

"Why, Bill, I believe that's more'n I've ever heard you say at one time since I've knowed ya," Jess chuckled, still eying the door.

Doolin shook his head as he slowly approached the table, "Won't work, Harper, I remember yore honeyed tongue and all the times you managed to sweet talk us outta some flea-bitten hoosegow. Eat up if you're gonna and let's get some shut-eye."

Regretfully, Jess saw he would have no chance to escape the bedroom Doolin pointed out to him. Mindful of the derringer in Slim's jacket pocket, Jess carefully hung the jacket on a hook, and glanced around the room. There were three narrow beds lined up against one long wall. Doolin snapped Jess's right wrist into shackles attached to the bed frame of the one farthest from the door.

"You come prepared for ever'thing, don'tcha? All set up for prisoners. Li must run his own private jail," Jess muttered sarcastically.

"From time to time, some of his workers don't want to stay with him any longer and the cuffs convince 'em it's not wise to leave before Mr. Li says they can."

"Yeah, I've seen his brand of convincin'. Don't think much of it, myself. Bill, how in blazes did you get mixed up with the likes of Li? I don't remember you skatin' on the thin edge of the law. You was always a hard-workin' cowhand when we trailed together."

"It's a long story, Jess, and not too pretty in some parts, but too much to tell tonight. You better sleep, you're gonna have a hard day tomorrow. Mr. Li is bound to have some surprises up his sleeve and he's _the_ most impatient man I've ever seen. Never been told _'no'_ his whole life. Your friend Sherman has him down pat, described him to a '_T_', and it's gonna rankle him mightily, let me tell ya."

"Alright, Bill. I would say good-night, but I reckon it ain't gonna be good for either one of us and the night's 'bout used up anyhow." Jess turned on his side, pulled the blanket up from the foot of the bed and closed his eyes.

Doolin hauled one of the bunks across the door and slipped off his boots before blowing out the lamp. Sitting down on the narrow bed, he leaned back against the door, his gun close at hand.

**Chapter 27 Adding to the Arsenal**

Dawn came much too soon. Jess had thought he would not be able to rest, but as exhausted as he was, he was asleep almost before his head touched the pillow. He groaned, more of a mental complaint than a physical one. Yesterday's events flooded his mind and the effort to get himself going, to deal with Li and Wen and Doolin made him want to pull the blanket over his head and go back to sleep. His mind refused to dwell on Slim and in what condition he would find his friend_. _

'_I'm sure Li has been busy all night thinkin' up some devilment to cause me and Slim more grief. I sure don't feel up to matchin' wits with that__polecat today, but maybe he's not as well armed as he thinks. Slim dressed him down some yesterday and if I can get some coffee in me, I bet I can come up with somethin' more to poke at 'im. And speakin' of pokin', there was somethin' in the mattress diggin' into my hipbone all night.' _

Jess raked his left palm over the bed, but found nothing. He turned his hand over to feel the outline of something in his front pocket and froze as he touched the contours of a small knife. _'Slim! He must've put his penknife in my pocket when he couldn't get me to wake up. I'm collecting quite an arsenal from that tall drink of water.'_

He dragged himself up to sit on the side of the cot, head in hands, and looked over to see Doolin staring at him as he came through the door.

"Mornin', Harper, rise 'n shine. Time to get our treasure hunt on the trail, so to speak," Bill told him cheerfully.

Jess grunted at him before firing questions, "You seen Slim this mornin'? Is he alright? Has he come to yet? Can I see him? I need a cup of coffee. And my boots, and my shirt and hat. Why did Slim bring me a shirt and how come he had my hat and rig? Exactly where in the hell are we? And how am I supposed to lead any minin' expedition handcuffed to a bed?"

"Dang, Harper! My Ma always used to say boys are born makin' demands and listenin' to you I understand exactly what she meant. Slow down and gimme a minute and I'll get you loose from the cuffs so you can get some of them answers for yerself." Bill shook his head in irritation, but crossed the room to release Jess and help him to his feet.

"Gang is standin' outside, so take it slow when you go out to wash up. He'll leave you alone unless you make a move to get away, but he don't know his own strength, so you can be hurt bad before you know what's hit ya. Come on back inside after you're done, and I'll get your clothes and try to answer some of the questions you been firin' at me."

Nodding, Jess collected Slim's jacket from the hook and slipped it on. He cautiously tended to his morning ablutions, keeping a wary eye on Gang standing with folded arms and a steady glare beyond the outside pump.

Back inside the bunkhouse, after breakfast, four cups of coffee, and chewing on an extra slice of bread, Jess felt almost human again. As Jess ate, Bill told him Slim was still unconscious but promised to let him at least see Slim before they got on the trail.

Doolin explained the reason Slim had Jess's hat and gun belt was because they had sent Sherman pieces of Jess's clothes, one by one, as proof they had kidnapped him. And later they sent a treasure map for Slim to decipher and what he was to do after he solved it. Jess said nothing, but each revelation made him more determined to stop Li and make him pay for all the grief he had put them both through.

Bill Doolin brought in Slim's saddlebags and the two of them searched to find Jess's shirt. A lump of ore fell out of one side as it was opened and Doolin pounced on it, the gold gleaming in the lamplight.

"What's this, Harper? Mr. Wen will want to know where it came from, so you better have some answers ready for him."

"Me? It ain't my saddlebag, it's Slim's! I don't know any more than you do." A calculating look came over Jess's face, "Looks like they'll have to quit pourin' the drugs into him if Li wants answers."

Now it was Doolin's turn; his eyes took on a crafty glint, "Miss Duvalier brought Mr. Li a package Sherman sent to Cheyenne, and they had him tryin' to solve the same clues they gave you. That's what she come up here to show 'em. But if Sherman had it in his saddlebag, he's already been to the mine."

"Why don't we ask _Slim_ where he got the ore?" Jess asked, still hoping for a chance to see his partner.

"Alright, Harper, get your shirt on and I'll bring your boots. We'll go up to the house and show Mr. Li and Mr. Wen the gold and let them decide what they want to do. Mr. Li is gonna be throwin' a pure fit if we're not ready to hit the trail in a few minutes, but seein' the ore may change his mind."

The sight of the gold changed the whole atmosphere inside the house. Li was even more anxious to get started, but his demands fell on deaf ears since Slim Sherman was the only one who knew where the gold had come from, and he was deeply unconscious from the drug he had inhaled. Wen reluctantly admitted he had administered another dose during the night; and then cringed with his arms over his head as Li shrieked at him while throwing everything within reach.

The person most affected by the sight of the ore was Mademoiselle Duvalier. Her eyes glittered, breath quickened and feverish color brightened her cheeks. She literally could not take her eyes off the gold, a detail quickly noted by Wen and Mr. Li. Doolin filed the information away as well, thinking gold fever was not reserved solely for prospectors, Chinese warlords and con men.

Bill Doolin convinced Wen, and Wen convinced Li, it was to their advantage to wait to ask Sherman about the ore. He assured Wen the time would not be wasted, but could be used to acquaint Harper with their location and to have him inspect the wagons and equipment before starting out.

As the two men checked over the first wagon, fragrant from the sharp scent of exotic teas and redolent with spices, stuffed full of bags of rice and coffee, jugs of molasses, sides of bacon and salted beef, cooking utensils and camping supplies, Doolin filled Jess in on all he knew of what had transpired while Jess was held captive. They inspected the water barrels lashed to the outside and the two extras secured at the back. Bill clarified Angelique Duvalier's part in his kidnapping and said her father, a French diplomat, had found the second map before he and Mr. Li decided to join forces to seek the treasure.

Sorting through the next wagon, filled with shovels, lanterns, picks, large canvas tote bags, and all the paraphernalia needed to dig through solid rock, Jess's mouth settled into an unyielding scowl when Doolin got to the part the Senator played in Li coming after them.

"A few months ago, Li heard rumors of a fabled treasure, The Lost Dutchman Mine, rich beyond his wildest dreams, and he can have some pretty crazy notions, let me tell ya. He sent for the Senator and bought a partnership with him to mine for the gold. Well, the Senator laid it on thick, you've met him, and you've seen what he can invent on the spur of the moment. Mr. Li believed all of it, ever'thing the Senator told him."

Doolin lifted covers on the outside of the Conestoga showing Jess bins full of sledge hammers, iron wedges and star drills, "Mr. Wen had us nearly buy out two general stores in Cheyenne to find all the mining tools you'd written out. One nosy old guy, at Perkins Mercantile, got almighty curious about the list we filled, and how many. He probably thinks there's a new strike somewhere close by."

Bill laughed, "Little does he know. But rumors of a new strike have started on a lot less than buyin' a bunch a shovels."

Taking Jess's elbow, Doolin steered him away from the wagon, "Now, where was I? Oh, yeah. . . . The old weasel skipped out with Mr. Li's money, and the map. In California, Mr. Li has a very long reach; he had the Senator tracked down and brought back to him, got his hands on the map and threatened to kill the old fool slow and painful if the Senator didn't produce his money and the location of the mine."

A Chinese man stood guard at the rear of the third wagon, and Doolin motioned for him to open the back flap, "Mr. Wen and me saw the Senator had gold fever so bad, he was runnin' around like a chicken with its head cut off. Mr. Li had the Senator dragged into a room with Gang and shortly after, your and Sherman's names come up. Mr. Wen sent spies to Wyoming to find out all he could on the two of ya, and then Mr. Li moved all of us here three months ago, around the same time he met up with Count Duvalier and saw the other map."

Bill climbed into the bed of the wagon and pulled Jess up behind him. Jess stopped short, startled at the boxes full of dynamite and blasting caps and rolls of cord stacked nearly to the top of the canvas cover. Another Oriental man waited impassively, rifle held at the ready, as the cowboys examined the contents of several wooden kegs, filled full of black powder.

Jumping down, Doolin continued, "Harper, I didn't realize it was you until I saw ya in Cheyenne after the stage rolled in. Mr. Wen don't tell me all he's doin', just the parts he wants me to know or gets me to interpret things he don't understand, or they use me and a couple more men whenever they need a fast gun."

Anxious to get back to Slim, Jess headed straight to the fourth wagon, and put out a hand to pull back the cover, but Doolin caught his arm and swung him around so they were face to face, Bill clutching a handful of Jess's shirt front. "This is Mr. Li's private quarters. No one gets within ten feet of this wagon unless he has permission. And I do mean nobody!"

"How was I supposed to know?" Jess demanded.

"Well, consider yourself warned, Harper," Doolin replied. "Don't let it happen again. There are armed guards inside with orders to shoot to kill."

Standing aside, Doolin called out a few words in Chinese. Along the entire length of each side, the canvas cover lifted, revealing three men with rifles cocked and aimed in their direction. Jess lifted his hands, palms forward and backed away.

Pretending to wipe sweat from his brow, he grinned uneasily, "My curiosity bump is more'n satisfied, Bill. What say we move on, huh?" He walked backwards toward the last wagon, hands raised, "_That_ was too close for comfort."

As Doolin finished with the last wagon, fitted with long woven baskets filled with clothes and linens, more food stacked along the center aisle, he completed his story, "That old rascal who calls himself the Senator can charm the birds right outta the trees. They get so tired listenin' to him, they crash to the ground to get away from the sound of his voice. He thinks he escaped from Mr. Li, but he was let go testin' to see if he could really come up with any clues to the whereabouts of the mine." Bill bent over and idly kicked clods of mud from between the spokes of the back wheel.

"The Senator gathered up ten or twelve hardcases and they attacked us here a couple a days ago. I'm sure you heard the gunfire. We killed three of their men and some of ours got hurt before we convinced 'em to back off. There's no tellin' what he told 'em about how much gold we had, but I don't think they'll be back anytime soon." Jess nodded, leaning down to retrieve a coil of rope which had fallen under the back axle.

As he handed over the lariat, Jess said, "I have a question, Bill. I've always heard the Lost Dutchman Mine was somewhere in the Superstition Mountains down in Arizona. Why was the Senator convinced it's in Wyoming?" He hastened to add, "It's here, but why wouldn't he be lookin' in Arizona like ever'body else?"

Bill stopped short and shook his head, "I have no idea, Harper, and if the Senator told Mr. Wen or Mr. Li either one, they've never told me."

"One more question, why did Li and Wen try to make me think they moved here after they knocked me out the second time?"

Smirking, Doolin told Jess, "Oh, they wanted you to think it'd been longer'n it really was. They didn't intend for ya to be back inside the little prison they set up for ya, so you'd a never knowed any different but what we carried ya here from St. Louis or Denver or San Francisco."

Jess swore under his breath all the way to the big house.

**Chapter 28 Jess's Offer**

It was nearing noon, and Slim was still unconscious, but Jess had been told he could see him. Angelique sat on the stool as the night before, Wen stood beside the bed, and Li reclined in his big fancy chair.

Li motioned for them to enter, "Ah, Mr. 'Arper. So nice of you to join us. You arrived in time to watch Wen finish preparing Mr. Sherman for travel. You have experienced this mode of transportation, but have yet to truly appreciate all the preparations required."

"Li, you snake, I thought you were goin' to bring Slim out of it, ask him about that chunk of ore. What have you done?" Jess took a quick step toward Li and balled his hands into fists, but Doolin rammed the barrel of his pistol into Jess's back to stop him.

"Such temper, Mr. 'Arper. Really! Would you rather go back to the bunkhouse?"

Jess quickly shook his head.

"No? I thought not." Li's coarse voice was contemptuous, "Wen offered you the opportunity to prepare Mr. Sherman last night, Mr. 'Arper, and you declined. Another opportunity has presented itself. Do you want to make sure Mr. Sherman is breathing after we are done? Or can you stomach to blindfold and gag him yourself?"

Wen broke in, "Does chloroform make Mr. Sherman sick as it does you?"

In a strained voice, his hands working fretfully, Jess answered, "I don't know. The Doc used ether when he got shot last fall, but I don't think he's ever had chloroform used on 'im before."

Slowly, Jess moved to the bedside. He somberly looked at Slim, taking in his bootless feet, bound legs, arms pinioned against his body. His hands were relaxed and still. Slim's hand was big, the fingers long and calloused, the palm scarred, hard from years of ranch work, but it was limp, no response as Jess gripped it tightly in his own. Jess laid his finger tips on the pulse at the base of Slim's throat, feeling the steady drumming there. He caught Slim's jaw and turned his face to examine it in the light. Jess removed his hand, and Slim's head rolled lifelessly over on the pillow; his face was ashen beneath the tan, and white ringed his mouth, his lips bluer than the night before.

Jess took a long, unsteady breath before turning to Li. He opened his mouth to speak, but had to stop to clear his throat. Doolin could see the effort it took for him to pull himself together. Harper's eyes were bleak as he glanced back at Sherman.

His voice shook as he slowly said, "Li. . . Mr. Li, let me take Slim's place here." He lifted his gaze to meet Li's eyes and his voice was stronger, "I'm used to fightin' my way through whatever comes at me, with my fists or my gun. I hated every second you kept me tied up. But I hate worse to see my partner. . . Slim, in the same fix."

Jess used every argument he could think of, "He's the one who's roamed over those mountains where the mine is hidden. Why, there's a mountain in the Laramie Range named for his family, Sherman Hill, between Cheyenne and Laramie. The fact he's even here means he's got answers to the Lost Dutchman. The gold was in his saddlebags; he must know about the mine. Let him guide your men and you hold _me_ hostage."

Jess raised his hand to brush over his face, "I've never humbled myself to any man, and I've prided myself on that ever since I was a boy, but Mr. Li, I'm beggin' you to do this one thing. Trade me for him, and let Slim lead you to the gold."

Wen spoke rapidly in Chinese, but was silenced by an angry gesture from Li.

Arrogance dripping from every word, scrutinizing Harper, Li scornfully replied, "Impossible, Mr. 'Arper. Too many resources have been expended to change our travel arrangements at this late date. Contrary to what Mr. Sherman said yesterday. . . here, _my_ word is law."

Hissing viciously, he continued, "We leave as soon as Mr. Sherman is ready for travel." Li turned his head dismissing both the argument and the request.

"Shut up, Harper! You're gonna make things worse for yerself and Sherman," Bill Doolin exclaimed, using his gun to keep Jess from going after Li. "Mr. Li offered to let you set the gag and blindfold or Mr. Wen will do it. What's it gonna be?"

"I'll do it. But he's not gettin' enough air now and that gag is gonna cut it even more. His lips wouldn't be blue if he was breathin' right."

Mr. Wen informed them, "We think that is Mr. Sherman's reaction to the drug. He is not breathing deeply enough. He will be watched. I do not need a berserker on my hands, Mr. 'Arper."

"What does that mean, _'berserker'_?" Jess demanded.

"A berserker is a crazy fighter who stops at nothing. Would that not be your reaction, should some mishap befall Mr. Sherman?"

"Damn straight! That's not the half of it. I've had my fill of all of ya." Jess jerked away from Bill Doolin to fix the blindfold in place. Then, he picked up the stiff bit of leather and rolled it through his fingers, breathing hard, before finally pushing it into Slim's mouth and tying on the gag.

"What now?" demanded Jess.

"Now, Mr. 'Arper," replied Wen, "You are going to show us where to find Mr. Li's gold."

Wen beckoned to Bill Doolin. He herded Jess over to the table and forced him to sit down, holding him in place with a hand gripping his shoulder. There a large map of Wyoming Territory was unfurled, edged with the books and stones Jess had so recently pored over.

"An Army map?" Jess swiveled around to stare at Mr. Wen, "How'd you get your hands on this? Only the United States Cavalry is supposed to have access to them maps. You need to wake Slim up, he helped survey the mountains around Fort Laramie and through Moccasin Pass clear up to the Dakotas. I bet he was the one who helped draw it in the first place."

"Irrelevant!" snapped Li. "You need to show us how to arrive at my treasure. This delay is going to have consequences for Mr. Sherman if you do not quickly identify the route and let us start."

"I still don't know where in the blazes we are. I've gotta have a startin' point and there's some other things you've gotta consider before ya go off half-cocked. This ain't gonna be no Sunday School picnic. And the mountains don't care if your word is law, they've got their own rules and we'll be abidin' by _their_ regulations, not yours!" Jess snapped back.

Hastily, Bill Doolin pointed out their location on the survey map, surprising Jess it was so close to Cheyenne. Jess in turn, traced part of their route, identifying the main Denver road as part of the Overland Trail, but the entire track he kept to himself. He knew if Li thought he could find the treasure without either Slim or himself, their lives would be worthless.

Angelique moved to the table, examining the map and hanging on Harper's every word. She tried to memorize the route Jess pointed out, hoping she and her father might be able to travel swiftly and scoop up their share of gold before the lumbering Conestogas could arrive at the lost mine. The lump of ore was being used to hold down a corner of the map and almost of their own volition, the young woman's fingers crept forward and wrapped themselves around it.

Greed crept over her face like a hungry shadow, devouring her loveliness, turning her into a caricature of her former self. Truly, truly for the first time, Angelique fully believed in the reality of the Lost Dutchman Mine. Up to now, it had been a fairy tale, a fantasy of unbelievable wealth, but she now could _see_ the culmination of all her beloved father's schemes.

Jess tried to impress on them the difficulties ahead, the height and steepness of the mountains, the roughness of the terrain. He told them at some point the wagons would need to be left behind; they would have to continue on foot or horseback, carrying everything they needed.

He mentioned they would see other travelers, and then deliberately sarcastic: ". . . with so large a party of Orientals. . . Chinese. . . Chinks, slant-eyes, yellas, there are bound to be questions." He warned them insults could come from any of the parties they met and some would even attack a group of foreigners on sight.

Jess told them their daily travel time would be shortened as soon as they left the foothills**. **Dawn would come later because the sun had to climb above the high snow-covered crags of the surrounding mountains and in the evenings would sink below the neighboring cliffs earlier than on the plateau.

The elevation to which they were climbing, Jess saved for last. He told them, using the cavalry map for proof, they would be skirting the Continental Divide, the runoff from mountain snow, streams and rivers flowing to the east on one side of the rugged mountains, to the west on the other. Cheyenne was at 6000 feet elevation, and he had noticed the difference himself since Laramie was only roughly 4000 feet above sea level. They were heading into high mountains, over 8500 feet. They would be digging at solid rock, hard demanding labor. It would take more wood to keep a warming fire, water would take longer to boil, nose bleeds would be common. When he explained how some people would struggle to breathe in the thin air, Jess's gaze drifted back to his partner.

While the men and Angelique were engrossed in studying the map and listening to Jess name all the hazards facing them, the Chinese woman from the night before quietly entered the room and walked over to the bed.

She barked a sharp question in Chinese and Li hesitated before he sheepishly turned to answer the diminutive woman. The lady angrily whipped the gag from Slim's face and threw it on the floor. She yanked the leather from his mouth and held it up between thumb and fore finger, scowling at Li. Back at the bed, she delivered an order in another torrent of words, accompanied by flashing eyes and irate gestures. Wen hurriedly left the room, returning with two plump pillows. He lifted Slim while she pushed the pillows under his head and shoulders.

With a disgusted shake of her head, the tiny elderly woman stomped from the room muttering under her breath. Jess had watched it all wide-eyed and turned to Bill, his eyebrows raised, with an unspoken question in his eyes. Bill whispered he would tell him later, she was Mr. Li's _"baomu"__._

Jess turned to Mr. Wen, "How'd you get to Cheyenne? Did ya all come together or a few at a time? Did you use the Conestogas to move ever'body?"

"Mr. Li and I came east from California as far as we could by train. Mr. Doolin brought about half of our people and three wagons. The other two wagons we purchased after we arrived. The remainder of Mr. Li's retainers came in small groups with guides to show them to this place. Why do you ask, Mr. 'Arper?"

Instead of answering Wen's question, Jess asked suspiciously, "Exactly how many people are we talkin' about anyway?"

"There are twelve women and countin' you and Sherman, twenty-six men all told." Doolin answered.

Jess exploded, "Forty people? _Cheyenne_ don't have more'n a thousand. We'll be movin' a middlin' size town. We'll stick out like a sore thumb."

"What difference does it make, Mr. 'Arper?" Wen wanted to know.

"I was tryin' to decide if it would be better to stagger the wagons out along the trail, or stay together like a small wagon train. Any travelers we meet are bound to ask questions because of the Chinese. In a lot of people's minds, the only reason for so many yellas in a bunch is if they're part of a railroad gang and I don't think you want to call attention to yourselves or cause any trouble with people we meet along the way," Jess replied hotly.

Doolin retorted indignantly, "Harper, don't you worry about how Mr. Li's people travel. You'll be amazed how quick they can disappear when they have to. It's almost like they have Indian blood in 'em. You concentrate on findin' the mine and let Mr. Wen and me worry about gettin' us all there safe."

Jess shook his head, frowning. More and more he had the feeling of impending disaster before this expedition had even gotten started. He stared down at his hands, clasped together with his thumb sliding uneasily against his forefinger, and then quietly asked, "Are you bringin' Slim, or is he stayin' here?"

"He will travel in one of the wagons, Mr. 'Arper," replied Li. "As soon as he wakes enough to question him, I want to know where he got the ore you found in his saddle bag."

"If you want to know about the gold so all-fired bad, why have you kept him knocked out?" Jess demanded.

Wen responded, "Mr. Sherman has been given no more chloroform. He should be awake by now, but he seems slow to recover from the effects of the drug. Talk to him, Mr. 'Arper, and perhaps he will wake when you speak to him."

Doubting their motives, Jess confronted the three men. "What are you up to now?" he questioned.

"Nothin', Harper. Do as you're told. You were so anxious to see Sherman, go talk to 'im. See if you can get 'im to wake up and make some sense." Bill Doolin pushed Jess off the bench and prodded him with his pistol to move across the room.

Jess approached the bed and laid his hand on Slim's chest. Slim's lips were blue and the white ring around his mouth was more pronounced. His chest barely rose and fell with each slow breath. "Slim! Slim, do you hear me?" There was no response. Jess slid an arm under his partner's shoulders and lifted him almost to a sitting position. "Slim! Answer me. Quit lazin' the day away. Daylight's awastin'. You need to get up and get goin', Slim."

Slim didn't really move; it was more of a hesitation before taking another breath. His head turned a bit, but for Jess, staring intently at his comatose friend, any little movement was a sure sign of encouragement. "That's right, Pard! Wake up. The stage will be here any minute and we have to get a fresh team ready."

"You'll. . . hafta do. . . ." Slim murmured.

"Slim! Rise and shine, old buddy. The day's 'bout gone." Jess urged, but Slim gave no sign he was close to being awake.

Frantic, Jess looked around the room. He slid Slim's blindfold over his head and darted to the wash stand. He wet the handkerchief from the pitcher setting there and hurried back to squeeze drops of water into his partner's mouth. Slim swallowed reflexively and Jess patiently dribbled more past Slim's lips, a few drops at a time.

"Come on, Pard, wake up." Jess pleaded. He soaked the cloth again and rubbed it over Slim's lips. Slim opened his mouth slightly and groaned as he turned his head away. Jess would not let him go, but followed with the handkerchief and started bathing Slim's face, wiping his forehead and cheeks, sponging his neck with the dripping rag.

"Tryin' . . . drown me?" Slim complained, drowsily, "Cold. Stop."

"I'll stop when you open those baby blues and look at me. You can do it, Slim. Pretend you're starin' all moon-struck at Sue Fenton."

Slim's eyelids fluttered, although Jess had to drag the cold, wet cloth over his face before any blue showed. Slim focused on Jess for a few seconds before his eyes rolled up and his head slipped to the side.

"Can't get awake, Je . . . ss . . . tired." Slim softly breathed his answer before once again silently drifting down into a deep sleep. Jess felt his chest tighten and his hands curled into fists as he turned back to the others.

"I told you what I would do if anything happened to Slim." he threatened.

Doolin had anticipated Harper's reaction and moved quickly to grab his arm and shove him up against the bed. He hissed, "Harper, you ain't gonna help Sherman if you do anything stupid. If you've got a lick of sense, you know for certain Mr. Li will dose him again faster than a tinhorn dealin' aces off the bottom and you can't stop him. Do you want me to put the Oregon boot back on your foot?"

Diverted by Doolin, Jess nevertheless demanded of Wen, "Why can't he wake up? What's goin' on?"

Mr. Wen answered immediately, "I am unsure, Mr. 'Arper, but it is nothing I did to cause Mr. Sherman to continue to sleep. Li Zhen and I think it is his individual reaction to the drug, as you vomit when you awake. Let me assure you, Mr. Li is extremely anxious for your friend to tell him where he obtained the gold ore. Wait a few hours and you can try again to wake him. He needs to have water and nourishment soon."

Jess subsided, but continued to glower at Li and Wen. He did not try to pull away from Bill Doolin, but let himself be guided back to the table. Bracing himself with one hand on the Army map, he asked icily, "Is there anything else you want to know? Or do you have more tricks up your sleeve?"

"I have a further question, Mr. 'Arper," Wen responded, "How long will it take us to arrive at the mine?"

Making a show of thinking it over, tracing his finger over the trail on the survey map, Jess finally replied, "It all depends. Depends on how good a shape the trail is in. . . depends if the weather holds. . . depends if none of the equipment or horses break down. . . depends on who we meet. . . depends on findin' the cut off where I think it should be and most of all. . . . Depends on whether Slim Sherman recovers from the damnable drug you forced on him."

He paused and lifted his head to glance at Wen, then turned to Li, "All things bein' equal, at the most, it will take four or five days to get us there."

**Chapter 29 Trail Weary**

Marshal Peck, Rolly Stevens, Rick Delgado and Bunk Purcell had ridden hard over miserable trails in desperately hot weather coming up through the country north of Carson City, New Mexico. It had been lengthy days of dust, sweat, rattlesnakes and scorpions, pushing themselves and their mounts from before dawn until the heat of the day forced them to rest, then riding long into the night, setting up camp after dark, eating jerky and cold beans, sleeping a few hours before going at it again the next day.

They crossed into Colorado Territory through Raton Pass and arrived in Denver late at night, liveried their horses at the nearest stable, and fell into the first beds not lined with gravel and lit with stars they had seen since they left Taos. They all slept late, went to the nearest bath house for a scrub and shave, ate breakfast and lunch in one long sitting, checked in with the local sheriff and territorial marshal, and then scattered on the errands Marshal Peck assigned.

"Bunk, I've got tickets on the 6:45 train, room for our mounts in the baggage car, and accordin' to the station master, this train is ALWAYS on time. To hear that railroad guy tell it, 'Ole Sol checks Union Pacific's timepiece before he claws his way up over the rim a Pike's Peak ever' mornin'. So we hafta be there on time or they'll pull outta Denver without us."

"Alright, Rolly. I'll be there. You ain't never left me yet." Bunk Purcell's petulant voice replied.

An exaggerated Southern drawl flowed softly from Rolly Stevens, "Boy, you'll be three days behind yer own funeral procession," the Virginian of the group emphatically informed him, "Rick 'n me have hauled yer sorry ass all over New Mexico Territory, but tomorrow you'll have to fend fer yerself, we've got the horses and supplies and Sam to look after."

It was a running gag between two of Sam Peck's three deputies as to just how late Bunk Purcell could sleep, and how soundly he snoozed. Purcell had awakened in the limbs of a tree, complete with pillow; on top of a mesa, nekkid as a jaybird; and draped head-down, tied over his long-suffering mount. Their latest escapade had found Bunk arrayed in the latest French lingerie, curled up sound asleep beside Marshal Peck himself.

"You know I pull my own weight, don'tcha Rick?" Purcell whined. When Bunk looked over his shoulder to see why Delgado hadn't answered him, he saw his two erstwhile partners shushing one another to keep from laughing out loud at his woebegone expression.

"Remember, boys, pay backs are hell." Sam told them lightly, pulling on his gloves and checking the load in his bone handled Colt .45. He usually laughed at their antics and let their jokes play out without interference. Eventually shifting allegiances would pit Bunk and one of the others against the third. They would then retaliate and settle the score handily with some shenanigans of their own. The marshal knew they needed a chance to blow off steam before they buckled down to business again; capturing the Mullins bunch and the brutal ride north had made demands on their minds and bodies which had to be compensated.

"Rick, order us some supper and let's go over Mort Cory's telegram again," Sam suggested, "Bunk, you dig out the maps of Colorado and Wyoming Territories."

**Chapter 30 Baomu**

It was decided since the sun was already two hours past its zenith and Sherman had not awakened, they would remain at the homestead overnight and get an early start the next morning.

"Stretchin' your blanket a little bit there weren't ya, Harper?" Bill Doolin asked derisively.

"Whatta ya mean?" Jess demanded, stiffening his back and jutting out his chin.

"You was layin' it on thick 'bout what we'll find on the trail, how hard it's gonna be to get to that Lost Dutchman Mine."

"Bill, I didn't tell the half of it! I've been up in the Laramie Mountains with Slim on more'n one huntin' trip, just the two of us, on horseback with only one pack animal, and it was hard goin'. It don't begin to cover trackin' up there with forty people, tryin' to keep us all fed and warm and safe from varmints. And not all varmints are the four-legged kind either."

"All the same, I think you're tryin' to scare Mr. Wen into thinkin' this is a lot harder than you expect it to be," Doolin responded with a sneer. "I'm not some greenhorn and neither are most of Mr. Li's other men. You keep us headed in the right direction and let me worry about any varmints we meet up with."

Jess opened his mouth to throw a defiant comeback at Doolin, but he stopped himself, relaxed his shoulders and took a deep breath to mildly reply, "You might be right, Bill. We'll see how it goes. Wen said you brought most of Li's people here by yourself from California, so you know how to ride herd on 'em. I'll worry about Slim, you worry about everything else."

The two men were sitting at one of the long tables along the center of the bunkhouse. Doolin had motioned for the Chinese cook, in Oriental dress but wearing a long apron over his trousers, to bring them each a plate.

While they waited for their meal, Jess turned to Doolin and asked, "Bill, did you understand what Wen said after I offered to switch places with Slim?"

"Most of it. Why?"

"What did he say?"

"He had about the same arguments you did, but Li wouldn't hear of it. I coulda told Mr. Wen that if he'd asked me, but of course I'm just an ignorant cowboy. No way either one of 'em would take a hired gun's advice," Doolin replied bitterly.

Jess rubbed his hands up and down his thighs; shaking his head in disgust, "It makes more sense to have Slim lead the way. He's the one who knows these mountains. Him and his Pa hunted up here since Slim was a boy. I've only been at the Relay Station for about three years."

Propping his elbows on the table and supporting his chin with both hands, Jess waited a minute before adding, "Li seems like a smart man and he sure has planned ever'thing out, why not take advantage of Slim's already knowin' which trails to follow?"

"Because, Harper, it wasn't Mr. Li's idea." Doolin replied flatly. "If he don't think of it first, or you can't come around in such a way as to make him think it's his idea, you can forget it. And there ain't no changin' his mind once he's got it set. Like I told you already, never been told _'no'_ his whole life."

Bill shrugged, "Mr. Li had already decided you were going to lead this treasure hunt and so, that's exactly what's goin' to happen. Plus, Sherman made him mad, so anything he can do to get even, he will."

Thinking of all Slim was going through, Jess never once considered what _he_ might have to endure on the coming journey. He sat in glum silence until their plates arrived.

Well, plate wasn't quite right, it actually was a large bowl filled with rice, meat and broth accompanied by a steaming cup of coffee. The food smelled good and both turned their attention to the meal. They ate with the air of men who knew to eat when they had the chance because there might not be opportunity to fill up the empty spot in their middles again anytime soon.

Changing the subject, Jess observed, "Li sure sat up and took notice when that little Chinese lady lit into him." Jess tore off a hunk of bread and dipped it in his bowl. "Who is she, Doolin?" he asked around a mouthful of rice and chicken.

"Her name is Zhen, Li Zhen. Li is her family name, like Mr. Li. I've picked up bits and pieces from what Wen and Mr. Li have let drop and I've learned some Chinese words bein' around 'em for the last two years.

I know she's cared for him since he was a baby, she's Mr. Li's _baomu_, what we would call his nanny or nursemaid. She's the only one I've seen be able to do anything with 'im. He never back talks her and she can sure rake him over the coals. I don't understand ever'thing she's sayin', but from her tone of voice, she gets him told." Bill replied with a shake of his head, blowing on his coffee to cool it.

Jess slowly finished his meal, chewing thoughtfully. As he drained the last of his coffee, he glanced over at Bill Doolin, mind whirling, wondering if he could somehow use Li's _baomu_ to his, and especially Slim's, advantage.

When they finished eating, Doolin led Jess into the bedroom they had occupied the night before. "Don't give me any lip, Harper. You know I'm the one totin' the pistol, so hold out your wrist and let's get this done without any scuffle. I've got some things to take care of for Mr. Wen."

He pointed toward the bunk, "Gang will come keep an eye on you while I'm busy, so relax till time to check on Sherman. You better rest while you've got the chance, ain't no tellin' what tomorrow might bring."

Jess's whole demeanor promised rebellion, but he threw himself onto the narrow cot and extended his right arm over the edge while Doolin snapped the manacle shut.

Bill grinned, "Don't go nowhere, Jess-boy," he drawled, "I'll be back soon as I can." He jerked the chain, making Jess flinch and sharply draw in his breath.

When Doolin returned, well after sundown, he opened the bedroom door to find Gang leaning against the wall never taking his eyes off Harper. Doolin tersely lifted his hand for silence and advanced into the room looking Jess over as he stood above him. Harper had his left arm flung over his head, there were tight lines at the corners of his mouth and he softly muttered indistinct words as his head tossed restlessly.

Dark, sooty lashes brushed his pale cheeks, the flat, tight planes of his face reflecting a sheen of perspiration. Jess's right hand opened and closed as though grasping the butt of a revolver and his trigger finger incessantly searched for the guard of an invisible firearm. His legs and arms jerked spasmodically, and Doolin thought to himself, '_Almost looks like a puppy runnin' in its sleep. . . ._ _I wouldn't say he's restin'; he's workin' as hard as if he was bustin' broncs or ridin' drag.'_

Bill had not taken time to sort out exactly what he thought about Harper or Sherman. He and Jess had been friendly when they were rough riders trailing north with the cattle drives, and Harper had gotten them into and out of more than one scrape, equally obliging to fight outlaws, rustlers or Indians, laughing in the face of danger and helping to start more than one dust up, more than qualified to finish it as well.

Doolin did not have a strong sense of what Li would decide to do with the two young men, nor even when. Based on past experiences with the spoiled and ruthless Chinese warlord, the future seemed bleak for both of the plucky ranchers.

'_Can I, or should I, help Harper and Sherman get away after they lead us to the Lost Dutchman?'_ Doolin shook his head regretfully and pulled the handcuff key out of his pocket. Bill had seen the outcome of those who decided to cross Li, and watched the carrion birds gather for a feast more than once.

**Chapter 31 He's Back in the Army Now**

Reaching over, Doolin unlocked the shackle which fastened Jess to the cot. He shook him gently and Jess startled awake, swinging at Bill's head as he bolted upright. Doolin ducked and pushed him down on the bed.

"Whoa, hold it, Harper! I come to take ya to Sherman. Li Zhen says to come fast, right now. So come on, we don't have time to waste fightin' each other."

"Why'd she say fast, what's goin' on with Slim? Is he awake? Is his breathin' worse?" Jess stumbled to his feet, hurrying to the bedroom door two steps ahead of Bill Doolin.

They both dashed across the yard, boots crunching on the graveled path, shadows stretching long behind them. Jess flung open the front door of the cabin and rushed down the hallway, Doolin close at his heels. He slid to a stop at the door of his former prison, glancing at his best friend, taking in the colorless face and lips, dark purple smudges painted beneath his closed eyes. The elderly Chinese woman was unwinding restraints from Slim Sherman's legs. She motioned them into the room and barked, "Pull fliend to feet, make walk. Hold up, make walk."

Jess grabbed at Slim's legs and swung them over the side of the bed; he and Bill Doolin caught Slim at each shoulder and stood him on his feet. Slim's knees folded and he sank toward the floor; his head falling forward. Jess lifted Slim's chin and spoke gruffly, "Slim, wake up! I've had enough of your shirkin'. I'm sick a this and it's about time to shape up, soldier. Ten-hut, Lieutenant Sherman!"

Slim's knees locked, his back straightened and his head snapped up, eyes flying open, even if momentarily. He looked around wildly, expecting to see his commanding officer, but saw a triumphant Jess Harper instead.

"Hey, Pard," Jess said softly. "Had to get your attention some way, didn't I?"

"Jess," mumbled a confused Slim Sherman, "I feel awful." His eyes started to drift shut again.

"I know, Slim," Jess quickly replied, "but can you walk a few steps? We'll help till you get steadier on your feet."

"I'll try. My head hurts," Slim's voice was shaky, his words slurred, "Water?"

Jess and Doolin maneuvered him close to the bed and Zhen held a glass to his lips. He shook his head to try to clear some cobwebs before drinking thirstily. She held a cup of broth to his mouth and he drank it down as well.

Clearing a path across the room, Doolin and Jess walked Slim back and forth, steering him by main force from bed to table and back again. After three or four trips, Jess looked over at Zhen.

"I thought you told me none of the Chinese understood English except Li and Wen," he accused Bill Doolin.

The woman answered him, "Li Zong not know much as thinks. Much learned by keeping mouth closed, ear open."

"Well, Ma'am, I'm mighty grateful you were here and takin' such good care of my friend," Jess thanked the lady and inclined his head awkwardly when she bowed.

"Can you walk on your own, Sherman?" Bill asked.

Hesitantly Slim replied, "Not much balance. . . without. . . my arms. Take me over to that bench?"

"No sit. Walk. Man need walk, breathe deep. Walk." Li Zhen gestured at the two men to lift Slim to his feet and keep him moving. She pushed them from behind, urging them to go faster.

Doolin and Jess held onto Slim, repeatedly guiding him back and forth across the small room and then around the table. His feet did not always track forward, he stumbled like a drunk man and swayed from side to side, unable to balance himself. After many circuits of the room, Zhen allowed them to sit Slim on the bench while she spooned a thin gruel into his mouth. He grimaced at the first taste, but then accepted each bite until the bowl was nearly empty. A drink, steam rising from the surface, followed, "Hot, burn mouth if swallow too fast," she cautioned.

Slim nodded his head cautiously, "Thank you, Ma'am."

"Hai! Walk more, faster. Must stay awake, need much air," Zhen made deep breathing motions with her arms, moving her hands from waist to throat in an oddly graceful gesture.

"Mr. Wen has some questions about the ore we found in your saddlebags. Are you awake enough to talk to him?" Doolin wanted to know.

Jess's fingers dug into Slim's shoulder and he spoke slowly, emphasizing each word, "Yeah, Slim, they want to know when you were at the mine and how to get there. Did you dig up the gold or was it layin' out in the open?"

Even dazed as he was from the effects of the drug, Slim realized Jess was attempting to tell him something important. Jess squeezed and released Slim's arm, then went to dip a rag in water to drape over his friend's neck. Slim frowned, desperately trying to comprehend what his partner had said. He gazed distractedly around the room; Slim felt as though his brain was wrapped in cotton wool and Jess's face was not quite in focus.

'_Mine? I haven't been to any mine. . . the ore. . . . They think I've been to the Lost Dutchman.' _Slim couldn't keep hold of his thoughts; he was finding it tough to keep his eyes open and jerked his head up as his chin wobbled downward.

**Chapter 32 Best Laid Plans . . .**

Angelique Duvalier rode a sturdy little mare, sure-footed and nimble. She pushed her hard. The mare was all heart and gave a bit more each time she was asked, but the horse was lathered, blowing hard, her head hanging by the time Angelique scrambled off her back and stumbled through the door of their leased home, calling loudly for her father and Alain, his long-time aide.

"_C'est vrai, Papa! C'est vrai! __J'ai vu l'or!"_

Angelique's voice trailed off as she caught sight of a stout, well-dressed man staring at her from the depths of her father's favorite chair. He lifted his teacup in salute, and said suavely, "Do come in, my dear! So lovely of you to join us. We have been waiting for some hours and I was beginning to get impatient."

"Where is my father? What have you done with him?" Angelique demanded, her eyes searching the room.

"Papa! Papa! Alain, where are you?"

She strode past the seated intruder, as he waved her on with a benign smile. An unshaven man in rough cowboy garb, holding a revolver to her father's head, rounded the corner and blocked her way.

The Union Pacific locomotive roared through the mountains north of Denver, crossing into Wyoming Territory after dark. Black smoke and cinders belched skyward and left a long, dirty plume behind them. The passengers, including Marshal Peck and his deputies, marveled at the speed they were traveling, grateful for the comfort of the railroad car in comparison to taking a stagecoach west.

Bunk Purcell made his way forward from the baggage car where he and Rick Delgado were bedded down with their nervous mounts.

"Sam, the horses are ridin' fine, but they're gettin' jumpy from bouncin' around these curves. I think you and Rolly better come on back and help us keep 'em calm." Purcell held on to the back of a seat on each side of the center aisle to keep from falling.

"Sure, Bunk. Come on, Rolly, let's mosey to the back. We can curry the horses and quieten 'em down," Sam jerked his head to the side. "Sometimes puttin' your hands on a skittish colt will even 'em right out. And if that don't work, Rick can always sing 'em a lullaby."

Marshal Peck stood and stretched to ease the kinks in his back_,_ "Know what time it's gettin' to be? I'm wonderin' how close we're gettin' to Laramie. Either of ya seen the conductor?" Peck asked, bending from side to side before limbering his gun in its holster.

Bunk answered, "The conductor's name is Jacob Calhoun, Sam, and he's from California, same as Rick. They was comparin' notes on mutual acquaintances a little while ago."

Peck nodded and motioned for Stevens and Purcell to precede him up the aisle. The three lawmen made their way towards the back of the train, holding on to their hats on the small platforms, wind buffeting them before they ducked through the low doors to the next rail car.

They had just stepped into the baggage compartment when the whistle blew three short blasts, a pause and then three more. Metal screeched against metal as the engineer locked down the locomotive's brakes. The lawmen were knocked off their feet, tumbling against the horses, making them shy and rear as much as their short leads would allow.

Rolly Stevens had been first in line, so he ended up on the bottom of the pile. He was out cold and bleeding profusely after striking his head on the corner of a large packing crate. Peck and Delgado quieted the horses while Bunk Purcell propped Stevens against a bale of hay and applied pressure to his scalp. The train came to a stop, the cars rocking from side to side, but none jumped the track.

Marshal Peck sent Bunk and Rick to check on the passengers and work their way to the front of the train. They needed to know _why_ the train had stopped. They found dazed and bleeding men and women, covered with cuts and scrapes, a few with broken bones, but no life-threatening injuries. Several travelers and the conductor were tending to the worst wounds as quickly as they could, women creating bandages from torn petticoat strips.

Rick left Bunk to help look after the injured while he climbed over the tender to the engine. When he scrambled to the top of the car, Rick could _see_ why the train had stopped. Huge boulders and shifting gravel were washed in the pale yellow glow of a three-quarter moon. A massive landslide hid the tracks in front of the engine, rock dust still hanging in the air.

By the time all the passengers had been treated, the sun was scorching down from a burnished bowl of sky. Jacob Calhoun was anxious to send the Federal lawmen for help, "We're about fifteen miles north of Laramie, marshal. Follow the old wagon path left from when the tracks were laid and it'll take you right into town."

Purcell and Delgado unloaded their horses and helped Rolly to mount. They needed to wire messages to notify the Central and Union Pacific Railroads about the landslide and send wagons and doctors and civic minded citizens to rescue the stranded passengers and crew.

Before Rick Delgado swung up on his horse, the Californians shook hands, "Thanks again, fellas. We're goin' to need water and food real soon, marshal, so send us some help fast as you can get 'em organized," the conductor called out as the lawmen started down the rutted trail, single-file, toward Laramie.

**Chapter 33 Northwest Passage**

Horses were being harnessed and saddled in the pre-dawn darkness, all colors washed out to a ghostly grey. There was a hush over the busy scene, only the creak of leather and clink of metal breaking the silence; a sharp command in Chinese sounding from time to time. Toward the east, Jess watched high, thin mare's tail clouds drifting above the cliffs, reflecting shades of rose and peach and mauve as the sun's rays struck them.

White mist floated on the surface of the creek which flowed across the valley floor, and a column of snowy spray rose above the waterfall. As the sun rose higher, trees and grasses turned from smoky grey to myriad shades of green and gold; red and purple and white and blue wildflowers appeared along the creek banks and songbirds flashed brightly. But Jess took no notice of the natural beauty around him. He absently noted nothing seemed out of place, and everything else faded into the background, as from a distance, he saw Slim loaded into Mr. Li's off-limits wagon.

It had been very late when Li Zhen sent Jess and Bill Doolin packing after she saw Slim's color had returned. She brooked no interference in having them help him into bed and his eyes closed quickly, but not before a slow wink in his direction let Jess know Slim was not as groggy as he was pretending to be.

"Li Zong and Wen Zhongcheng wait for morning to ask questions, man sleep now. You go. Sleep until sun back in sky," she had declared, closing the door in their faces.

Regardless of Li Zhen's instructions, both Jess and Bill were up long before the sun, Jess rousing as Doolin buckled on his gunbelt and set Gang to stand guard until he returned.

When Gang released Jess from the cot, he unfastened the manacle from the bed frame and snapped it in place with the one already on Jess's right wrist. Jess complained, but Bill merely smarted off, "You'll be wearing them bracelets to bed tonight, so you might as well keep up with 'em today instead a me havin' to do it."

Now, Gang stood nearby, waiting with Jess until Bill Doolin approached leading two saddled horses.

"Here, Harper, don't ever say I never gave ya nothin'," Doolin said, tossing a bundle in Jess's direction. Jess caught it and shook out his familiar short, tan canvas jacket and black vest.

"How 'bout my gloves?" he demanded, searching in each pocket.

"Never satisfied, are ya, Harper?" Bill replied stiffly, "I've only got one, we sent the other one to Sherman to prove we really had hold of ya."

Jess glared at him, but reached in the pocket of Slim's jacket and pulled out a pair of tan leather gloves, "I'll wear these, it's clear Slim won't be needin' 'em today," he returned acidly. In the flurry of changing jackets, Jess managed to slip the derringer inside his glove, before tying the barn coat behind his saddle.

"Can I take Slim his coat? He might need it."

"No! He'll be plenty warm in the wagon with Mr. Li. And if he don't start answerin' some questions, keepin' warm will be the least of his worries, or yours either." Doolin threatened, "Mount up and lead out. We've got a lot a ground to cover today."

Bill and Jess rode at the head of a line of prairie schooners, riders strung along each side of the trail and a group of about a dozen men riding in formation behind the last wagon. He kept Harper close, sometimes leading Jess's horse by the reins. Jess seethed inwardly; he had to keep reminding himself to relax and save some energy for the coming showdown.

They did not stop for lunch, simply taking time to water the horses and let them rest for a few minutes. Jess saw Zhen leave Li's wagon and Wen climb in while they were stopped. He heard yelling coming from inside, and started to rein his mount back down the line but Doolin already had his pistol cocked and aimed at Jess's middle.

"Settle down, Harper. Nothin' goin' on back there concerns you. You'd just get your head blown off 'cause you ain't got permission to be near Mr. Li's wagon."

"Permission, hell! I'll make you a promise right now," Jess growled in his deep baritone, "If there's a mark anywhere on Slim, Li will wish he'd never set foot in Wyoming Territory."

"You fancy yourself quite the rebel, don'tcha, Jess? But I don't see no sign anything's changed since yesterday. When you start givin' the orders, you can make me all the promises you like. Till then, keep your trap shut and do as you're told."

The Texan glowered, eyes slitted and eyebrows pinched down, but he surrendered his reins after Bill motioned for him to hand them over.

Jess asked, "Can't you take these handcuffs off for a while? My wrist is raw now; by dark it'll be bleedin' all over the place."

Doolin was unmoved, "Then you better make sure to keep your glove pulled up and your sleeve pulled down. Once we get on the main road, the wranglers we meet might wonder if you're an escaped convict, should they happen to see you wearin' steel around your wrist."

All day, Jess spoke only to answer questions put to him by Wen or Doolin.

Early afternoon, they came to the end of the furrowed, overgrown path they had followed since daybreak and turned west on the main road. All the mounted men had disappeared like smoke, a few at a time vanishing into the surrounding forest. Jess took off his hat and used his sleeve to wipe sweat from his face, "I see what ya meant, Bill. I was watchin' and didn't notice half of 'em leave the trail."

Doolin nodded; the hard look he gave Jess plainly said 'I told you so.'

Reaching into his saddlebag, Doolin handed over Jess's gun belt and revolver. "Your artillery."

"Mite light, ain't it?" Jess scowled, bouncing the gun in his hand, "Missin' a few shells, maybe?"

"No beans in the wheel, Harper, but don't 'spect you'll need any. It's for show, in case somebody we meet gets nosy as to why you ain't heeled."

Wrapping the belt around his trim hips, Jess nodded curtly as he tied the holster to his thigh; having the familiar weight at his side was a comfort.

The caravan had spaced itself out and settled into a traveling routine, when Jess broke his silence to ask, "Is that little hussy Angel Duvall still here?"

"Nah, she's gone to get her Pappy and the rest a her bunch. They're supposed to meet us somewhere on the Cheyenne road," Bill replied, "But we ain't waitin' around for 'em. They'll have ta find us as best they can. No skin off my nose if they don't never show up."

"Well, there's no love lost on my part. She sure tricked me good. I thought I was only helpin' out a poor helpless female; figured she weren't strong enough to lift her bags."

Doolin chuckled, "Sure that's all you were doin', Harper. I've seen ya eyein' enough fillies to know better."

Jess's face colored, but he said nothing more.

Amused he had gotten something over on Jess, Bill rubbed it in, "You followed her just like she was a Judas goat, Harper, just like a Judas goat."

**Chapter 34 Allegiance**

"Rolly! Straighten up, son. You're gonna get stepped on if you fall off that broom tail." Sam Peck yelled. He was bringing up the rear as he and his deputies picked their way slowly toward Laramie. Bunk and Rick were taking turns leading Rolly's horse and pushing Stevens upright when he overbalanced.

Rolly raised his head, but remained slumped over, nearly resting in his mount's mane. "Bunk, I don't feel so good. Find me some shade and I'll rest 'til ya come back to get me."

"Sure, Rolly, we'll get you somewhere so's you can rest. Hold on a few more minutes and we'll be in Laramie," Purcell soothed his friend, straightening him in the saddle. "Hold it a minute, Rick, I'm gonna swing up behind him and we can make better time. Catch hold a my horse and I'll catch hold a Rolly."

Marshal Peck and his deputies did make better time with Bunk holding Stevens in front of him. They were soon walking their horses down the middle of Front Street, searching the street signs for a doctor's shingle. Silence took hold as the locals caught sight of the four men-and their badges.

Alert to changes in his town, Mort Cory stood to peer out the window of Laramie's jail, swinging back to lift his gun belt and buckle it in place. He strode out the door adjusting his hat, a frown quickly replacing his smile of recognition as he realized one of the lawmen was hurt.

"Marshal Peck! Has your man been shot?" Sheriff Cory asked anxiously as he stepped into the street and caught hold of the lead horse's bridle. It was carrying two men, one wrapped in the other's arms.

"No, sheriff, he laid his head open when the train stopped without warnin' and the rest of us used him as a feather bed," Peck answered, grinning, "Rolly sure didn't appreciate it, but we didn't do it on purpose, did we, boys?"

"Sam, stop your joking." Mort Cory demanded, "He's got blood runnin' down the side of his face and you're makin' jokes?"

"Sorry, Mort, I didn't realize he'd started bleedin' agin. Where's your doc? We need to get him looked over real quick," Peck reined his horse close to place his hand on Stevens's shoulder, "Rolly, Rolly, do you hear me? We're in Laramie and you're gonna be feelin' better real soon." He gently patted the young man's shoulder and looked to Mort Cory for directions.

"Doc Burns is over at the Michaels spread. But Martha, his wife, is at the office. Follow me and I'll take you over there."

Late afternoon shadows were pooling in the corners of the parlor when the Senator relented and allowed Angelique to see her father. They sat talking quietly while the Senator relaxed with a fresh, steaming cup of tea. He seemed to be ignoring Desmond and Angelique's whispered discussion. They were speaking French and the Senator knew they had made the assumption no one in the house understood a word they said.

"Ah, _Mademoiselle, Monsieur_, speak a little louder, _s'il vous plaît_. _When_ did you expect your employees to return?"

Startled, they both turned toward him, all the color draining out of Angelique's cheeks, her eyes huge in a pale face.

"_Oui, je parle Français_! Although I am a little rusty_, ma petite chou_, I don't often have an opportunity to practice your lovely language among the barbarians with whom I am forced to associate. So, continue your most interesting _tête à tête_ in English, if you please."

The Senator's friendly voice took on a harder edge, "I said continue. I would hate, _ma chère_, to once again turn Mr. Kinsey loose on your father to extract the information I need. And yes, I clearly heard you say when you arrived. . . quite breathless, I might add, you had actually seen the Dutchman's gold."

Angelique burst into tears, burying her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook as great sobs wracked her body and she wailed in her native tongue about their dreams of fame and fortune crashing down around them.

Unmoved, the Senator waited until she had quieted to breathless hiccups, "I don't give a tinker's damn for your vision of the future, Mademoiselle. It is my dreams of fame and fortune which concern us at the present. I know all about the Chinese, you see."

His ego getting in the way of his good sense, the Senator preened, "I am one of the few men to ever escape Mr. Li's clutches, so, my dear, you can rest assured I am a resourceful and determined man. Especially where the Lost Dutchman Mine is concerned."

Boyd Kinsey pushed open the front door and the Senator hurriedly amended his speech, "But, I. . . uhhh, we. . . are most impatient and nothing is going to stand in the way of me. . . us. . . pursuing Li Zong to the gates of Hell, if we have to, to make sure the treasure falls into the right hands."

Cunningly, the Senator reflected he might get further by switching tactics, so he magnanimously offered a truce. "If the rumors are true, there is more than enough gold to share. You and your Papa can create your very own version of paradise. . . ."

With an oily smile, he leaned over to place a chubby hand on Angelique's knee, all the while glancing suggestively at Kinsey hovering in the background, "And we'll be busy doing the same."

Rubbing his hands together merrily, with a twinkle in his eye and avarice in his heart, he purred, "Why don't we pool our resources and cut out Li and his yellow horde?"

"He did what?" Sam Peck yelled loud enough to wake the dead, and certainly loud enough for his deputies, helping the doctor's wife with Rolly Stevens in the next room, to exchange a worried glance and speedily decide one of them needed to find out what their boss was howlin' about.

"Rick, you go. I'll help turn Rolly so Miz Burns can get this plaster on his noggin. But from the sounds of it, the Marshal is gettin' up a full head a steam. Maybe you can cool him down." Bunk Purcell urged Delgado to leave knowing Peck's temper could escalate to colossal proportions given the right circumstances. And it sounded like somethin' had delivered the right circumstances.

Slipping through the exam room door, Delgado pulled it closed behind him and waited to see what the next outburst would bring. He didn't have long to wait.

"Of all the mule-headed, stubborn saddle-warmers I have had the misfortune to know, Slim Sherman takes the cake for havin' the absolute hardest head and stiffest-back I have ever seen, bar none! Why in Glory would he strike out on his own when he knew we were comin' to help?"

"Sam, that's just it. He didn't know when – or if – you were comin'. Slim rode for Cheyenne before I got your telegram sayin' you were on your way," Mort tried to explain.

"Cheyenne? We come by Cheyenne on the way here. That good-fer-nothin', low-down, sorry excuse for a rancher is gonna regret the day he took outta here on his lonesome. By ginger, I swear I'll take a hunk outta his hide big enough to stitch me a new pair a saddlebags."

Rick Delgado grinned; he had heard this all before. The marshal was larger than life in his exploits and his passions and his anger and his outrage. Peck's pique filled the space with his righteous indignation and seemed to use up all the available oxygen in the small, stuffy waiting room.

Sheriff Cory was given no chance to list the details of Sherman's departure before Peck exploded again, "We coulda saved ourselves a full day and fifty miles a bad road by gettin' off the train in Cheyenne instead of waitin' for a landslide to stop us at Laramie."

Peck's eyes suddenly opened wide and he slapped his palm to his forehead, "The rockslide! I nearly forgot." He turned on Delgado and grabbed his arm, "Rick, why in the Sam Hill didn't you remind me to tell Mort about the train? Don'tcha know that's part of your job, son? I need somebody to do my rememberin' for me and I think we elected you this month."

"Sure, Sam, sure thing. We've just been so busy with Rolly I've not had a chance to recollect for ya." Rick replied easily, winking at Mort. Peck continued muttering under his breath, driving his left fist into the palm of his right hand as he strode back and forth across the small room.

"Sheriff Cory, a rockslide in a pass practically due north of Laramie has blocked the tracks. The rubble is almost as deep as the locomotive is tall, and it happened late last night, but none of the cars jumped the track. There are some injuries, but I don't think anything real serious; the conductor said they would need water and food pretty soon. We told him we would send help back as soon as we got to Laramie, but with Rolly bleedin' like he was, it plumb slipped all our minds."

The deputy grinned shyly and ducked his head, "It ain't been but a little while since we got to town. . . so can you send some wagons up to the train and a telegram to the Union Pacific office and some water and food and the doctor when he gets back?" he asked hopefully, looking from under his eyebrows at the sheriff.

Mort Cory looked from Delgado to Sam Peck and back again. It had been quite a while since he had been around the famous marshal and he had forgotten what a whirlwind usually swirled around the man and his hand-picked crew.

There was silence as Mort absorbed all he had heard. "Let me make sure I've got this straight. You were all passengers on the Union Pacific. . ."

"Outta Denver," supplied Rick.

"Didn't talk to the sheriff in Cheyenne. . ."

"No, it was already dark and the engineer only stopped long enough to take on water and let off passengers."

Pushing his hat to the back of his head, Sheriff Cory continued, "Rode on towards Laramie, and run up against a landslide in the Sherman Cut. . ."

Sam Peck exploded again, "Sherman Cut! That dad-burned Slim's gotta _landmark_ named for 'im?"

"No, Sam," Mort patiently explained, "His Pa."

"Oh, his Pa. I see!" Sam said too quietly, rolling his eyes. He turned from Mort to face Delgado and declared, "Now I know I'm gonna hang his hide out to dry. Rick, you remember that when we catch up to 'im. When we get him outta whatever fix he's got hisself mixed up in, I'm gonna kill 'im!"

"Sure, Sam, sure thing." replied Rick, nodding sagely.

"How many passengers, Rick?"

"About forty, Sheriff, but not all of 'em are hurt. Prob'ly only about a score, score and a half, need attention and we did what we could before we left 'em. The conductor, Jacob Calhoun, seems to be a steady man in an emergency and he was doin' a good job of keepin' ever'body calm. But you do need to get 'em some help headed up there pretty soon."

"Alright, you boys wait here and I'll let Tay Washburn know what's happened. He can get a rescue party organized and started up the trail. We better plan on bringin' all the passengers back here if the debris is as deep as you say. Gonna take more'n a few hours to clear out that much rock. And there'll be an East-bound train comin' up on the logjam from the other side, too."

**Chapter 35 Baiting the Bear**

The small caravan had met only a few other travelers after they arrived at the Denver junction and turned on the road west; no one had overtaken them from the rear and Jess wasn't sure whether to be glad or sad. There had been no problems from the people they met, only a tip of the hat and a few words exchanged before they each continued on their way, Doolin leaving Jess to make small talk with the passing riders and teamsters.

Not a soul was in sight when they took the turn-off to the north and Bill Doolin encouraged them to make better time, urging the drivers to push the teams up the trail until they were well out of sight of the east-west highway. There was no sign of Angelique Duvalier or her father; they had expected them to arrive with servants and baggage all afternoon.

Mr. Wen flagged Bill down as they passed the last wagon to check the trail behind them, "Mr. Doolin, Hong Guang will be waiting at the first clearing to set up for the night. They will have started making camp, but we have the bulk of the supplies. Mr. Li will want dinner and it may be late in the night, but we need to drive on until you see Hong on the road ahead."

Doolin acknowledged he understood with a salute and since he was again leading Jess's mount, guided both horses back to the head of the train. They slowly rode on, catching a whiff of burning wood and searching through the trees until they spied a reddish glow at some distance from the trail. Hong Guang stood at the left of the road and motioned for them to turn off.

A screen of cut bushes and shrubs was dragged to the side, leaving a track wide enough for the wagons to enter. A few hundred yards off the trail, a secluded clearing large enough for all the Conestogas and stock to rest comfortably for the night was waiting. A bonfire burned vigorously at one side of the nearly enclosed space.

Wen clapped his hands together, sharply, twice and men appeared silently from the surrounding tree line, efficiently removing the horses from harness and lifting out camping gear and cooking utensils for the night.

After a short burst of Chinese from Wen, several people scrambled to move steps to the back of Li's wagon, then lift out rugs and tables and Li's ornate chair, setting them near the fire before continuing to fix up the camp and help with the stock. Jess saw Li step down from the wagon, waddle slowly over to his chair and settle his bulk into its comfort. Of Slim there was no sign, and Jess had to assume he was inside, hidden by the canvas bonnet.

Doolin had kept Jess with him on horseback, "You and me are gonna take a little gander back down the trail to the Cheyenne road, to see if the Count and his merry little band are anywhere in sight."

He tugged on Jess's reins, "If we don't see nothin' of 'em back down the way, why then we're gonna mosey a little piece in the opposite direction before it gets too dark, and check out what the road's gonna look like for travelin' tomorrow."

The two men saw nothing in either direction, and found neither hide nor hair of the Duvaliers. Returning to the cut-off, guards quickly shoved aside the brush hiding the entrance to the secluded clearing. As soon as Bill and Jess walked into the camp, a bowing Chinese man stepped forward to take their horses. They found themselves in the midst of well-organized chaos as both men and women bustled around to serve everyone from the communal fire.

Bowls, fragrant steam rising from them, were handed to each man by a young woman and an older man gave them cups of dark, strong coffee, the familiar aroma reviving Jess as he sniffed appreciatively. There was a low murmur of voices from the Orientals gathered in small groups around the fire, but Jess and Doolin ate in silence.

Jess finished the last of his coffee and pushed himself up, intending to go to the fire and pour himself another cup. Doolin's hand automatically shot out and grabbed hold of his arm as Harper started to his feet.

Jess grinned tiredly, his teeth flashing white in his tanned face, "Want me to bring you another cup, too, Bill? Or did ya think I was fixin' to run away?"

Doolin scowled, and handed over his cup but he never took his eyes off Harper. Jess hunkered down on his heels beside the fire and set both cups on the ground. He reached for the coffee pot resting on one of the rocks surrounding the blazing logs.

Jess heard a sound behind him and turned his head in time to see Gang reaching for him with both hands. He was pulled to his feet, arms pinned.

"What's the big idea? What've I done now? If you people don't want me to get another cup of Arbuckle's, why don'tcha just say so? Ya don't have to be so rough about it!" He swung around to stare at Bill Doolin, belatedly realizing Doolin was on his feet, gun drawn and leveled toward the forest.

All conversation had ceased. The Chinese stood up, forming mute ranks beyond the fire's light. Jess looked around quickly, expecting an attack, but not sure where it would come from. Scuffling and harsh words preceded three men's appearance at the edge of the clearing. Two of the men dragged a third between them. He slipped and then fell cowering at Mr. Wen's feet.

Slim Sherman was hauled upright by the man who had watched him since he had been placed atop a pile of sumptuous silks in Mr. Li's Conestoga. The sentry guided him to the back of the wagon and helped him to climb over the tail gate. From his vantage point, Slim could see Gang holding onto Jess beside the fire, and wondered what new meanness Li had in mind now.

Encircled by guards, Slim was shoved toward the central camp. He had the impression of staring into a painting; it reminded him of a drawing in one of his mother's old books. The image had been a wood cut of the Salem witch trials and Slim could easily picture wicked imps lurking in the inky pools of shadow surrounding this small campsite. Darkness obscured the surrounding forest, leaving the camp an island in the midst of the encroaching gloom.

The glowing fire threw shadows into distinct relief. Lit from below, outlined in ebony and ruddy orange, monsters or demons could be imagined on some faces, fear was sharply outlined on a few, while others revealed a thirst for power and the remainder a resigned acceptance of what was to come.

Only Li Zong had a beatific smile in place.

"Ah, Mr. Sherman," Li greeted him with a laugh. "We can continue our philosophical discussion with you as a witness instead of a participant this time," he chuckled.

Slim gave Li no answer. He stood, towering head and shoulders over the men guarding him, and stared resolutely ahead.

Li had watched Slim as he approached, and knew Sherman had seen Gang holding his friend. He spitefully added, "I would include Mr. 'Arper in our debate, but he is going to be rather otherwise occupied part of the time. Perhaps he will deign to join in when his role in our little ceremony is completed."

"What's the prize in this debate, Li?" Slim asked coldly, dropping his head to look at the seated Oriental man. "You always want to profit from your actions, so how is it to my benefit to 'join in'? What do I get out of it? Will you let us go? Set us free?"

"Hard questions, Mr. Sherman. You drive right to the heart of the matter, do you not?"

"We don't have time to dance, Li. You're callin' the shots, so let's get to it! I'm sure you've spent the day dreamin' up something new to plague us. What time you weren't screaming at me to tell you the secrets of the Lost Dutchman." Slim said drily. Li's smug and superior sneer was ample cause to make him see red. Slim had simply had all he could stand of confinement and one-ups-man-ship and worry and fear and. . . .

When Gang jerked Jess to his feet, his instinctive reaction was to resist. Jess's body took over, muscles bearing the memory of positioning himself, ready for a brawl. He took in the scene, quickly deciding where the greatest dangers lay.

There was Doolin, gun drawn and aimed.

Wen standing arms akimbo, his robe billowing in the evening breeze.

Li with a self-satisfied smirk as he pointed toward the dirt in front of him.

Slim. . . surrounded by armed guards.

Slim. . . far gone in rage from the look on his face.

Slim. . . being knocked down.

Slim. . . .

Two guards pushed down on Slim's shoulders, but he shook them off, feet planted wide apart, full of righteous anger. One man aimed a kick at the back of Slim's knee, forcing him to the ground.

'_Slim's mad enough to bite nails in two,'_ Jess thought worriedly, _'Li ain't gonna take kindly to Slim blessin' him out. But that big galoot don't care who he's talkin' at when he gets rollin'.' _

He could make out some of what Slim was saying, and as Slim's voice rose, Jess could hear more, "Wicked. . . men's lives. . . payment. . . final. . . Dutchman Mine. . . gold. . . demanded. . . playing God. . . ." Slim had delivered every word with razor-sharp precision, but he fell silent when Li stood up, a riding crop clutched in one pudgy hand.

A log shifted, loud in the expectant hush, sending a shower of glowing sparks skyward like fireflies winking out, the ash caught away in the fire's draft. As though it was a signal, a sign, everyone took a breath and shifted their feet, freed from their stupor.

Ignoring Slim's outburst, Li inquired curiously, "Do you play chess, Mr. Sherman? I have not found a worthy opponent since I left California. Wen plays but he has the misfortune of also having to be sure he does not anger me too severely."

"Not since the War, back east," Slim answered tersely, "You aren't interested in _playing_ anything with me. . . or Jess. Why don't you spit it out and quit beatin' around the bush."

"You are quite right. This is most certainly not a game. It is a life-or-death situation, and not only for you and Mr. 'Arper," Li walked away, striking the crop against his thigh with each step.

He turned back and slowly sat down, "Make yourself comfortable, Mr. Sherman. I have no chair to offer you. But this will take some time and I do hope you will be inclined to offer your comments as our tableau unfolds."

None of the guards offered to help him and it was awkward with his arms lashed to his sides, but Slim managed to lever himself to his knees and then sit down, crossing his legs Indian fashion.

**Chapter 36 Evil Among Us**

Li spoke a single word in Chinese, "_Kaishi_!" and Gang frog-marched Jess to the center of the camp. Wen followed, drawing a length of chain from a pocket of his robe. Bill Doolin joined them, holstering his pistol.

"Mr. 'Arper, you can fight Wen and Gang if you want and I will soon have six men to overpower you. You cannot win against so many and the pain and bruises will only be reminders of your foolishness," Li told him.

Li's reptilian eyes glittered, deep black and reflecting nothing in the flickering light. "I suppose you would like to know, both of you, what is in store for Mr. 'Arper?" he asked.

"You, Mr. 'Arper, are the opening act in our entertainment."

He sighed dramatically, "The Chinese empire has a long and colorful history, gentlemen. While your vaunted 'Western Civilization' was cowering in caves, there was already two thousand years of culture in my country. Art and literature, horticulture, engineering, printing, geography, architecture and the healing arts flourished. In China, during the Tang Dynasty, there was a whole class of Renaissance men before Europe had learned to wipe its collective nose."

Li rose to his feet, his speech taking on a more pronounced accent as he warmed to his subject, "And chief among the discoveries of Chinese superiority is the art of war. We have ancient treatises describing the best and easiest ways to subdue local populations, how to bend them to our will and secure their lasting and complete obedience. _That_ is the demonstration we will have here tonight, gentlemen."

He paused for effect, "Gang,_ Jixu_."

At Li's command, Gang forced Jess's arms above his head. Mr. Wen walked toward them, holding the length of chain in his hands. When he got close enough, Jess kicked out with both feet, striking Wen in the stomach. The small Oriental man uttered a surprised squeak and doubled over, obviously in pain.

Slim started to his feet, but two of the sentries laid their rifle barrels over his shoulders, pinning him down.

Li ordered, "_Zhifu ta!"_ and three of the guards surrounding Slim quickly moved in on Jess. Two of them lunged for his legs and the other caught him around the middle. They lifted Jess off his feet and with Gang holding his arms, dropped him to his back and held him there while Wen once more cautiously advanced.

Struggling madly, Jess tried to escape. A fourth sentry joined in, grabbing a handful of hair and bending Jess's head back until he was forced to lie still.

Wen looked at Li Zong, who, with a flick of the riding crop, told him to proceed. A few words from Wen and the man holding Jess's torso lifted him off the ground. Wen started to push the chain around Jess's back, but Li called out, in English, "No, Wen Zhongcheng, thread the chain through the loops on his trousers and secure it behind him."

Startled, Bill Doolin looked first at Mr. Li and then to Mr. Wen. Impassively, Wen did as ordered and motioned for Bill to bring the manacle key. Gang lifted Jess's arm and Doolin opened one of the handcuffs. A guttural command from Li and the men flipped Jess onto his stomach. Doolin laced the open cuff through the two ends of the chain and with an ominous click he secured Jess Harper's right hand at the small of his back.

Doolin had seen Li subdue other men in much the same way, but the chain had only been looped around their waist and fastened at the front. A few days of not being able to use their dominant hand had convinced them defiance or rebellion was definitely not the tactic to escape Mr. Li's attention.

But. . . the way Harper was tethered, his right hand was totally useless.

And. . . he would have to ask for permission any time he needed to relieve himself.

"Place him here, beside me," Li instructed. "Mr. 'Arper, it will be extremely unhealthy for Mr. Sherman, if you choose to defy me or object to any part of act two," he said coldly.

"Where was I?" Li asked rhetorically, not waiting to see his order was carried out. "Ah, yes, the art of war. The mind and body are trained in unison; deprivation becomes a virtue, austerity a selling point, comradery a by-product of harsh campaigns."

He continued, "When one knows beyond a shadow of doubt, repercussions are immediate and severe; the conquered peoples do not even consider defiance, because retribution is swift and sure, and merciless."

Turning to Slim, Li bowed mockingly, "I can cite an example using you and Mr. 'Arper, during your brief stay with us. When I told Mr. 'Arper to be silent, he instantly obeyed: he has already learned consequences are immediate and meaningful."

Sweeping imaginary dust from his cushions with the short riding crop, Li returned to his chair. Insolently, he tapped the back of Slim's head with the quirt.

"You on the other hand, Mr. Sherman, disobeyed me and replied to Mr. 'Arper's question, even if it was only a nod of your head. By rights, I should make sure your disobedience is punished. But. . .I will forgive your first offense since you had not previously been aware of my orders."

'_If you think this is the way to guarantee mine or Jess's "_complete and lasting obedience",_ you've got another think coming, buster,' _Slim's anger blazed.

Li paused to stare intently at the cringing Oriental man. "Gentlemen, Duan is our _second_ act."

There was a muted rustling at the edge of the clearing as the Chinese onlookers shifted uneasily.

"This man kneeling so abjectly before me, was well aware of my orders, and _his_ offense shall not go unpunished. Discipline must be maintained at all costs, Mr. Sherman, and the lesson will be well-noted by all here."

With a grand sweep of his hand, Mr. Li included the onlookers surrounding them, "Our Eastern philosophy delights in the masses. A single life has little meaning, virtually no impact in the relentless march of history."

Scornfully, Li Zong continued his soliloquy, "Your Western teachings are the opposite; they glorify the individual, a lone man against insurmountable odds, fighting the impossible fight, righting alleged wrongs. Tilting at windmills!"

Pushing to his feet, Li strode purposefully through the clearing, speaking angrily in Chinese and gesturing with the riding crop as he walked.

Switching to English, he turned, "Duan tried to leave our company in the confusion of starting our journey. Were we not on the trail, his punishment would be much harsher, but it is as well it has happened now. At risk of repeating myself, instill obedience with punishment swift and sure and merciless."

Li drew back his riding crop to strike, but before the blow could land, a woman's voice was heard from among the silent onlookers and Li let his arm drop.

"_Tingzhi!" _

Li Zhen pushed her way through the women surrounding her, several of them attempting to hold her back. She walked silently until she was near Li. Slim could see she no longer had on the ornate brocade jacket she had worn all day, but was clad in a thin silk shirt and loose-fitting black trousers.

Speaking in halting English, the tiny lady quietly told Li, "What you do is not right! Duan told you and all those who found him he lost his way in mix of trees and paths. You know he never leave _muqin_ nor _qizi_; he fears what you would do to them."

She reached to her left shoulder and ripped the cloth away. Jess gasped and Slim turned his head to the side. She had been branded, the white puckered skin clearly visible even in the flickering firelight.

Looking over her shoulder at Li, Zhen continued, "Slave mark cannot be erased. I belong to House of Li until day of my death. But. . ." she paused for long seconds, "Zong, you are child of my heart. I raised you, from day of birth when own honorable _muqin_ died giving you life. In all ways that matter, you are _wo de erzi_, my son. But your heart has become evil, the lure of gold consuming you. Always you have been hard man, difficult to reason with, but you have considered other views when advisors have shown wisdom."

The firelight created harsh shadows on Li Zong's features; anger and disbelief raced across his face.

Zhen sank to her knees, "Even now, I choose to speak Anglish so your followers, your household not know how wicked you have become. Your actions reflect my teachings; I am one who trained you. Cool your anger against me."

Bowing her head, Zhen finished, "If one is to be punished, let it be me for allowing you to become Li Wuqing the Merciless, for so was your ancestor called."

Shaking with impotent rage, Li Zong raised his arm to strike Zhen, when a low murmur swept through the Chinese onlookers.

Gang took three steps from his place behind Jess into the bare space surrounding the campfire.

Wen Zhongcheng raised both hands in a futile attempt to halt the confrontation before it could go any further.

"No!" yelled Slim Sherman.

"Don't touch her!" Jess Harper shouted in almost the same breath.

Li Zong turned his wrath from Zhen to Slim in an effort to save face, for he too had heard the angry rumble from the crowd, and even in his overwhelming anger, knew he had gone too far.

"Consequences, Mr. 'Arper! I warned you there would be consequences!" Li cut diagonally across the open space, intent on punishing Slim after Zhen's interference.

Slim ducked his head to one side and the quirt slid a glancing blow across his shoulder and back. Eager to save himself from being clubbed again, Slim spoke up quickly, "You wanted Jess and me to join your debate about your Eastern philosophy versus our Western views. Isn't that what you said Mr. Li?"

Haughtily, Li replied, "I did. . . ." Unspoken, the rest of his sentence echoed in all their minds, ". . . _and here my word is law_."

With Slim a captive audience, Li had spent hours talking about his intentions for the gold and the empire he would rule. Slim had begun to get a picture of Li's ambitions as well as his delusions. Using the knowledge he had gained during the long day's journey, Slim cautiously began to speak as Li stood poised with the upraised crop.

"I believe a single man _can_ make a difference, Mr. Li! The, uh. . .the mass of humanity you say it takes to alter the course of history has. . . to, uh. . . to. . . to include those men who rise above the. . . the ordinary. . . and whose names are remembered for years," Slim leaned forward, struggling to come up with something more to distract Li.

Slyly, Slim asked, "Should someone like yourself, who has come so far, learned so much. . . should a man, who may be seen in later centuries as a hero, really have to step down before his work is complete, before he's. . . uh. . . accomplished all he. . . can achieve?"

Slim was running out of ideas when he heard Jess call, "Li, I bet you can name a bunch of men who stand out in _your_ history."

Grateful for Jess's interruption, Slim quickly added, "You told me today, Mr. Li, your family founded the Tang Dynasty and conquered most of China."

He rushed on, "What if _you_ are one of those giants, like Caesar or Alexander the Great or Hannibal or our George Washington. Their single lives influenced a generation or a country and some few have an impact on the whole world." Slim was trying hard to make Li see himself the hero like those ancestors he was so proud of. Li Zong had not shifted his body nor lowered his weapon. His eyes roamed to Harper and flitted across his assembled vassals, finally settling once again on Sherman.

Thoughtfully, Slim finished, sincerely believing his own words, "I have to argue those individuals are necessary to point the way for the masses. One life, even if it's only important to a man and his family, or to his town or to his country, can't be replaced."

Jess had been holding his breath, afraid to move lest he distract Slim, but a few seconds after Slim stopped talking, he added, "I don't have book learnin' like you or Slim, but I understand ya can't know another man's thinkin' unless he tells ya. And 'less someone remembers his words, when a man dies all his ideas are gone, buried with 'im."

"Will history record you are one of those men who become legend? Will it remember your cruelty, or your compassion?" asked Slim quietly.

Salvation came from an unexpected ally.

Bill Doolin called out, "Mr. Li."

Li stood frozen, face flushed, his arm still raised above his head.

Doolin called louder, "Mr. Li!"

Finally, without turning to face him, Li replied through clenched teeth, "What. Do. You. Want. Mr. Doolin?"

"Mr. Li, let's not forget why we're here in the first place. Your gold, Mr. Li. Your treasure. We need Harper and Sherman to lead us there, it's only a couple days away now."

Li lowered his arm, and swiveled to look at Bill Doolin, "Thank you, Mr. Doolin, for pointing that out. You are surely one of my most valuable employees, unlike most of the miserable cowards I have surrounding me."

And that quickly it was over. Li Zong walked to his waiting seat and demanded tea, acting as though the recent spectacle had never happened.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 37 Undercover**

Wires flew thick and fast between Laramie and Cheyenne as Mort Cory and Thad Raines shared their evidence, suppositions and educated guesses on Slim Sherman's and Jess Harper's whereabouts. The lawmen had taken over the small telegraph office with maps and papers littering the counter and eventually, Leroy Poteet, the telegraph operator, had his desk pressed into service to hold the mounting stack of yellow flimsies.

Slim's theory of the Lost Dutchman Mine being in Wyoming instead of Arizona was met with loud howls of laughter until Mort repeated Slim's story about the old prospector, Ari Albertson, and told them he had seen the gold ore and map. He could see the wheels turning as Peck, Delgado and Purcell absorbed the new information.

The upshot of it all was they decided to ride for Cheyenne as soon as Sheriff Cory brought Ernie and Tay up to date on what was going on and Mort could gather up his bedroll and saddlebags.

Marshall Peck had left the most hateful task for last: Telling Rolly Stevens he was leaving him behind. The fifty mile forced trek they were about to undertake, in the dark, on horseback, was certain to be more than Rolly could handle, no matter how much sand in the young man's craw.

Rick opened the door as Marshal Peck raised his hand to knock at Dr. Burns's office. He stepped back and motioned for Sam to go on into the exam room where Rolly was propped up in bed, a white bandage wrapped at a jaunty angle around his forehead, and a fetching grin on his freckled face.

He greeted his boss with, "Glad you're here, Sam, I was about ready to bust out and come lookin' for you bunch a owlhoots. But, Miz Martha threatened me with bodily harm if I even thought about climbin' outta this nice soft comfy bed before she said I could."

"Uh, Rolly. . ." Peck started as he and Delgado exchanged a pointed glance.

Stevens interrupted, "Rick was tellin' me all about Slim Sherman's crazy notion the Lost Dutchman Mine is somewhere near here and has gone lookin' for it along with trackin' down his partner. When do we leave out, Sam? I've just gotta grab my britches from Miz Martha and stomp my boots back on. "

"Rolly, the thing is. . . Missus Burns don't think you're ready to sit a horse for that long a trip into Cheyenne, and then there's the matter a havin' to start right into searchin' for Slim and no tellin' what we might scare up when we get there. . . ." He shrugged, knowing Rolly hated the thought of being left behind, like he or any of the others would have.

"Aww, Sam," Rolly moaned, "You know I'll just take off after ya'all as soon you're outta sight, so why don't we save all of us some trouble, and I'll ride along with you."

He tried out his best puppy-dog eyes along with the angelic expression guaranteed to melt the heart of the staunchest spinster. Heck, it had even been known to work on his savvy and skeptical boss.

"I'm feelin' a whole lot better'n I was, and if I take it easy, I'll be fine as frog's hair in a few hours.

"Ya know, Sam, I've been thinkin'. . ." Rick butted in, "Why couldn't we get the engineer on the Union Pacific to backtrack his engine and rail cars to Cheyenne. It ain't as though they're goin' to be on schedule anytime soon, not till all the rock is cleared offa the tracks. And then Rolly could come along. We can load up all the horses and take 'em along, and we could be in Cheyenne rested and ready to high-tail it out after Sherman and Harper by daybreak."

Both Marshal Peck and Rolly Stevens were staring wide-eyed at Delgado. Sam was the first to recover his voice.

"I swan, Rick, some days you're useless as tits on a boar hog, but most of the time you are just plumb handy to have around."

If the engineer was agreeable, Marshal Peck wouldn't even have to exercise his right to commandeer the train. But he could. If he had to.

When Sheriff Cory went to send one last wire, he found the painfully thin, stoop-shouldered telegraph operator locking the door of his office.

"I was comin' to find you, Sheriff. This telegram came in from Marshal Raines after you left."

"Thanks, Leroy. I appreciate you being so patient with us takin' over your office," Mort said, fixing Poteet with a hard glare. "I'm dependin' on you to not breathe a word of what you heard this afternoon. Slim Sherman's and Jess Harper's lives depend on you bein' tight-lipped as a clam."

Poteet nodded as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down, "No, sir. I. . . I mean yes, sir. Not a word. You can trust me, Sheriff."

It wasn't until after they were aboard the train and chugging their way back to Cheyenne, Sheriff Cory remembered to look at the wire from Marshal Raines. He tilted it into the murky lantern light and read aloud:

_Duvaliers attacked at home._ Stop. _Prisoners since yesterday._ Stop. _Unknown assailants._ Stop. _3 Duvalier employees in my custody._ Stop. _Exit train at 5 Mile Creek._ Stop.

They left the train at Five Mile Creek, met up with Thad Raines and followed him to a line shack at the edge of Newman's Ridge. None of the Duvaliers's employees, two very bedraggled and scruffy gunhawks and one impeccably tailored French officer, knew anything about their patron being taken prisoner. Peck and Raines left them to cool their heels under the watchful eyes of Joe Smiley, one of Cheyenne's reliable young peace officers.

By dawn, the Federal officers, Laramie sheriff and Cheyenne marshal were huddled on a rise overlooking the rambling stone house where Angelique Duvalier's little mare was wandering around the yard, reins trailing as she cropped what grass she could find. They were getting the lowdown on the situation from Deputy Theo Jenkins.

"The two servants are locked up in the little shed over there on the left. They ain't had nobody take 'em food or water since they was carried in there yesterday mornin'. There's one guard in the barn loft and two back in the trees. The feller you see lightin' up his quirly at the corner of the front porch is one a the bunch. . . there's seven of 'em altogether. . . what come sneakin' up on the house. He knifed the feller standin' guard, drug his body into the barn and took his place."

Deputy Jenkins shook his head sadly, "That French girl didn't even notice the difference when she come tearin' up the steps yesterday afternoon."

As they lay watching, Rick Delgado caught a glimpse of movement high in the branches of one of the trees surrounding the ranch house. He prodded Bunk and motioned for him to hand over the field glasses they were sharing. Delgado scooted down the hillside and propped his hat so the sun wouldn't reflect off the glass and give him away. Slowly panning across the trees, he searched for what had first caught his eye.

There! There it was again. Rick fixed the glasses in place and scrutinized the spot until the features of an Oriental man slowly came into focus. He lowered the glasses and pulled on Bunk's leg to slide him down too. Handing over the spyglass, he directed Purcell's gaze toward the trees beside the house. After a couple of minutes, Bunk lowered the glass and turned to Rick with a look of amazement.

"What do ya think?" he mouthed silently.

"I think we better see what that jasper is up to, is what I think," Delgado replied.

"My little brother's good enough to knock a squirrel outta a tree at a hunderd yards and catch 'im 'fore he hits the ground or bounces twice," declared Purcell.

Rolly Stevens retorted, "Well, it's too bad we don't have your little brother or his slingshot along, Mr. Bragadocious Purcell."

"Well, just who do you think taught Cody in the first place?" Bunk fired back, hot under the collar at his prowess being questioned.

"That boy never learns, Mort, as many times as the other two have pulled this stunt, he chases the carrot ever' blamed time." The Laramie lawman chuckled as Peck murmured, "Reckon it's time I put a stop to the fussin'."

He softly called out, "Alright, boys. Bunk, you'll just have to prove how good you are. He's gonna fall outta that sycamore like manna from heaven, so you other two get ready to catch 'im."

The lawmen crept as close as they dared to the perimeter where guards kept watch around the Duvaliers' stone house. They maintained a silent vigil as Purcell crawled on his belly until he was within spittin' distance of the enormous tree holding his quarry. He lay quietly, never taking his eyes off one particular branch and then with a sudden motion he drew back the pocket of his slingshot and let a good-sized pebble fly upward in a soaring arc. There was a thud, a groan and a body tumbled downward in a flurry of twigs and large, fuzzy, sycamore leaves. Rick and Rolly caught him before he bounced twice.

"Son, that was some fine shootin' with nuthin' more'n that forked branch you plucked outta yore poke."

Taken aback by the marshal's unexpected praise, Purcell scuffed the toe of his boot at a patch of weeds, "Twernt nuthin', Sam. I told ya all how I had ta learn to make do with anythin' at hand, or me and the whole family had nights we went to bed hungry."

An element of surprise had worked in the lawmen's favor. Advancing quickly after knocking the young Oriental assassin out of the tree, the experienced peace officers had gained control of the outside guards, each deputy taking care of his opponent in short order.

Sam Peck and Thad Raines spent a few minutes listening under an open window while inside, three men were attempting to force a young woman to answer their questions, threatening harm to her father if she did not comply with their commands.

As soon as their deputies had moved into position to storm the house, the marshals gave a signal and the lawmen forced their way inside. They soon subdued the ruffians surrounding the frightened aristocrats.

"Well, well, well, Marshal Peck, looky here what the cat's dragged in and the dogs wouldn't have," Rolly Stevens hooted as he hoisted a corner of the drapery hiding a crouching, trembling man.

"As I live and breathe, if it ain't 'ole Windy Doolittle!" Declared Sam Peck, looking up from the shirt front he had knotted in his left hand, his right fist drawn back to punch Boyd Kinsey again. He dropped the unconscious man to the floor, and with a jangle of spurs, sauntered over to stand beside Stevens.

"Mort, you done wastin' yore time with the small fry? Come over here and see what a whopper Rolly's done landed!"

Peck's other deputies and the contingent from Cheyenne gathered around, staring from the Marshal to the frightened man hiding behind the overturned plush parlor chair.

"I'll make your howdy-do's, Sheriff. I bet this here dandy is the one Slim calls the Senator, but me and the boys know him better as Marion Wyndham Doolittle. . . Windy Do-Nothing for short. . . just a bag a hot air."

Sheriff Cory whistled long and low. He nudged the chair out of the way with his toe and squatted down for a closer look at the stout man. "Sam, he does kinda resemble the rogue Slim and Jess described to me, right down to the fancy clothes. Reckon it puts the ring of truth to Slim's theory of who has Jess. . . and why."

Sam could hear Thad Raines making soothing noises to quiet Miss Duvalier. Marshal Raines was kneeling beside the young lady, holding her close with one arm around her shoulders. Angelique's head was buried in Thad's chest, her tears making a wrinkled mess of his shirt.

Between hiccups, she sobbed out, "Oh, Thad. . . I. . . I have never been so fri. . . ghtened in. . . my whole li. . . li. . . fe. I don't know what would. . . have. . . have happened to Papa and me if you hadn't rescued us when you did."

Angelique's sobs evaporated and she peeped one eye around Raines's arm as Peck began to speak.

"Windy, what are you doin' in this neck of the woods, my man?" Marshal Peck inquired jovially, righting the overstuffed chair and seating himself in front of the middle-aged man sitting in the corner. Sam leaned over and grasping the man's jacket lapels, pulled him to sit up straight, dusting off his shoulders and tugging down his vest. "Did you say something, Doolittle? What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"

The rotund man glared at the lawman, turning his head to scowl at everyone in the room, but he spoke not a word.

Dropping his Stetson to the floor between his feet, Sam leaned over with his elbows on his knees, his hands loosely entwined. He shook his head regretfully a couple of times before pinning the Senator with a steely gaze.

"Windy, after we locked all your gunslicks in the smoke house, we were listenin' outside while you were trying to intimidate the young lady. I distinctly remember you sayin' something about giving some Chinese the slip. . . ."

Peck nodded his head and Rolly Stevens dragged a young black clad Oriental man with a skull cap, long pigtail and murderous eyes to the middle of the room.

Rick Delgado and Bunk Purcell let the knives, hatchet and pistol they were carrying fall noisily to the floor. "Found these on the prisoner, Marshal, never seen so much hardware on one yahoo in all my life and born days," announced Delgado.

The Senator promptly fainted and struck his head on the window sill as he slumped senseless to the floor. "Guess that took the wind outta his sails." Bunk observed matter-of-factly, swiftly gathering up the weapons they had dropped.

Angelique squealed and pushed away from the questionable safety of Marshal Raines's embrace, scrambling to get as far away from the Chinese youth as she could, all the while spewing a long stream of French words to her Papa.

One of the men Thad Raines had left on guard at the Newman Ridge line shack was urgently signaling from the front porch. Afraid their prisoners had escaped, Raines hurriedly closed the door to join his deputy.

After several minutes, he let himself back in the parlor. Catching the marshal's eye, Raines tossed his head to one side, letting Peck know they needed to talk.

Angelique kept her eyes on the two marshals. She was distraught but she was determined to salvage as much of the treasure as she could get her hands on.

Marshal Sam Peck had moved his group of officers to the shade of the big sycamore tree to keep prying eyes and ears from hearing his instructions.

"I don't trust the Senator any more'n I would a nest of rattlers and Angelique hasn't exactly proved herself to be reliable, either."

Sam went on, stumbling over the pronunciation of the Frenchman's name, "If this Lieutenant Alain Roqueville is tellin' the truth, he can save us a lot of time and the heartache of cipherin' through several lies. And that might save more'n a few lives before all this is over."

Throwing his arm around Sheriff Cory's shoulder, Peck went on, "Mort, maybe you understand French accents better'n I can, so you try to get some more details outta Alain—hope I pronounced his name right—and I'll tackle Windy when he comes to."

"Rick, since you know a smattering of their language, you question the young Chinaman. Thad, see if you can get some straight answers out of Miss Duvalier."

They all moved off to undertake their assignments. Sam called after them, "We'll meet back here in an hour to match up what you've found out."

Jostling closer to make sure they could hear Sam Peck, the Federal deputies and Wyoming lawmen gathered in the Duvaliers' dining room.

"Well, boys," the marshal drawled, "I don't know 'bout you but. . . ." He trailed off, "I'm starvin', so let's eat before we start comparin' notes! The Count's chef. . . he says his name is Jock. . . has rustled up some pretty fancy vittles, but with enough gravy, it'll slide down all the same!"

The others laughed, easing some of the tension, as Peck had intended. His deputies exchanged a glance among themselves, their pride in their boss almost tangible.

There was little conversation other than requests for salt or pepper or gravy as the hungry men paid tribute to the excellent meal and devoured everything in sight. Finally pushing back his chair, Marshal Peck rubbed his hands across his stomach and sighed, "What I need most right now is a good long nap, but that ain't happenin', so we'd best get started. And if any of you doze off, I'll understand," he chuckled.

"Once again the Lord has provided for the pure in heart—what I have heard of Alain's story will save us hours of questioning, not as though we would doubt the reliability of Miss Angelique . . . ." The last statement caused several raised eyebrows and pointed looks at Thad Raines.

"Mort, why don't you start off and the rest of us can fill in the holes as we go along?"

Sheriff Cory stood up and walked to the end of the table, "It seems Alain is dotty where Miss Duvalier is concerned. He was so scared the Oriental man he calls Mr. Li would send an assassin to murder Angelique and her father and all the others, he decided to spill the beans. And, it looks like he was right. He has seen or heard about some of the dirty tricks Li has pulled and according to the lieutenant, there's a trail of bodies from here to California which can be tied to Li or his men."

At the end of two hours, between what Lieutenant Roqueville told Mort, Slim's guesses regarding the Senator and the Lost Dutchman Mine, and sifting through the half-truths or outright lies gleaned from Angelique and Windy Doolittle, the lawmen had pieced together a pretty good picture of what they faced.

Peck asked for some time alone while the dishes were cleared from the dining table.

Stevens, Purcell and Delgado took turns at the front window watching their boss pace up and down the side yard. Purcell stepped away from the window and snapped his fingers to get the others attention, "Sam's got his mind made up. He's on his way inside."

By the time Peck walked in, the law officers were seated around the dining room table, lounging as though they hadn't a care in the world. Rolly handed Sam a steaming cup of coffee.

With a grin, Sam Peck blew across the cup before taking a long noisy sip of the hot brew.

"Okay, who's the best shot with a revolver?" Peck asked.

Three hands instantly pointed toward him. "Very funny, but I've gotta take myself out of the competition this time."

The same three hands pointed skyward. After a slight hesitation, Theo Jenkins raised his hand as well. Thad Raines chuckled and nodded his assent at Sam's unspoken question.

"Best with a rifle?"

Rick and Rolly pointed at Bunk, who grinned shyly.

"Yeah, and we saw who's best with a slingshot."

They all laughed and enthusiastically slapped Bunk on the back.

"Next question, who's the sneakiest?"

Rick and Bunk aimed their fingers at Rolly. He nodded in agreement.

"So noted. Who's the best cook?"

The three Federal officers shrugged, but no one raised a hand. Timidly, Theo Jenkins allowed as how, "I can boil water without burnin' it."

"Perfect. You're nominated."

Sam paused to think for a few moments, and then asked, "Who can drive a four-up team?" Cory raised his hand as did Thad Raines.

Sam continued to fire questions, some serious and some silly, but a picture began to emerge of what Peck was proposing and where each officer would fit into the puzzle. Finally, he said, "It may come down to who can wear which clothes, but there's the plan."

Marshal Raines interrupted, "Sam, I think I'd better stay out of sight and probably Joe Smiley, my other deputy, too. If those gunslingers Sherman saw in the Overland office are involved with this, they've seen both of us and could give the jig away."

"You're preachin' to the choir, Thad. I think it best you ride in the coach with the Senator and Count Duvalier. We'll figure out some way to disguise Joe or hide him up top, but we're outgunned pretty bad and need all the numbers we can take along."

Peck rubbed the back of his neck; the tension always settled there and he knew it would get worse. Time was their enemy. They were on a precarious schedule with an unknown number of stops. The longer it took to get to Slim Sherman and Jess Harper, the more danger the young ranchers would be in.

**Chapter 38 Getting Back Some of his Own**

Every person in camp reminded Jess of a pack of stiff-legged mongrels circling one another with hackles raised and teeth bared, lips twitching and ready to jump at the slightest provocation, exchanging sidelong glances to keep likely foes at bay. Himself included.

After the havoc of the previous night, he felt bruised and sore, not only in body but in spirit. The emotions boiling over late into the night, the lack of sleep and the painful way he had to bed down, all made for one very unhappy Jess Harper.

The Orientals had quietly gone about the business of tidying up the camp and getting ready for bed, with hushed voices and fearful glances at one another.

Bill had freed Jess's hand when they awakened before dawn and allowed him privacy to wash up and get ready for the day, but Mr. Li had demanded the manacle key when he appeared for breakfast.

In a roundabout way Doolin apologized for the way Jess's hand was secured. "Sorry, Harper, I didn't know Mr. Li was gonna do that nasty trick of tuckin' your hand behind ya."

"But you knew since yesterday morning about his little trick with the handcuffs, Bill. You coulda warned me if you'd wanted to."

"You ain't my boss, Harper. And I didn't have no call to let you in on nothin'. I already said I was sorry you're hog-tied like you are. Let's leave it there, before you make me regret sayin' anything."

"Fair enough, Doolin. But this ain't over."

"Oh, I know, Jess, better'n you. I surely do. Come on and let's get some breakfast, it's gonna be another long day."

Li sat in his usual spot, slowly sipping from a tiny cup. Calling Wen over to him, he gave instructions and Wen walked toward Li's Conestoga, soon returning to the fire with Sherman and a guard in tow.

With forced good humor, Li began, "I trust you slept well, Mr. Sherman? Were your accommodations satisfactory?"

Slim did not reply, so Li continued irritably, "You may speak Mr. Sherman, it is only Mr. 'Arper who is under orders to be silent."

'_Evidently Mr. Li doesn't take kindly to being ignored. I'll have to remember for later,' _Slim thought, while aloud he answered, "Slept like a baby. The bed was soft and I had plenty of blankets. I need to stretch my arms and legs after sleepin' so sound. Why don't you get Wen here to untie me and that's what I'll do."

"Ah, Mr. Sherman, surely you jest. Mr. Wen is much too busy to take on such trivial tasks."

"Well, I'm sure you have plenty of other servants around to take care of any little thing you need, Li. How 'bout this fella breathin' down my neck? I'll hold his rifle and he can loosen the laces. Won't take a minute."

Li laughed out loud, "Very amusing, Mr. Sherman. You _must_ have slept well to be in such high spirits this morning. However, I think it best to maintain the status quo. Sit down, have some food, and we will get on the road. My gold is waiting and _I_ am impatiently awaiting the sight of it."

He signaled for a young woman to approach and had the sentry prod Slim over to sit on the opposite end of the log where Jess and Doolin were eating. The girl fed Slim and he dutifully opened his mouth for each spoonful, jaw locked and chewing as though the thick porridge was tough as a nickel steak.

Li Zong had kept up a steady patter, his eyes darting over to make sure Harper was taking it all in, often asking questions requiring Slim to reply.

"Have you ever been to the Lost Dutchman mine, Mr. Sherman?"

Caught, Slim stared at Li for a long time before shaking his head from side to side.

"No," he acknowledged.

Li pounced, "Then where did you get the gold ore Mr. Doolin found in your saddlebag? Reply truthfully, Mr. Sherman. Mr. 'Arper's continued health depends on your answer."

"I think it came from the Lost Dutchman, but I've never been there. It was given to me by the miner who _did_ discover it," Slim slowly responded.

"Did the miner give it to you since you left your ranch?"

Slim took even longer to answer, "No," he grudgingly replied.

Li regarded both young men appraisingly, "Are you going to tell me the whole story or do I have to resort to violence, Mr. Sherman?"

"I've had the ore since I was a child, but I didn't connect it to the legend of the Lost Dutchman Mine until I saw the map you sent and read through some of the books Angel Duvall left at the Plains Hotel."

Slim dipped his head and sighed before continuing.

"The geodes were the key. The miner had some of those rocks mixed in with the ore and I realized where they must have come from. The treasure map made sense then and I realized where the trail led."

"Mr. 'Arper told us you have surveyed these mountains. . ."

"Yeah, I led a cavalry unit from Fort Laramie up into the Dakota Territory."

Disdainfully, Li inquired, "Is Mr. 'Arper guiding us in the right direction?"

"He's leading you the same way I would have come," Slim replied firmly. He held Li's eyes defiantly until Li motioned for the young woman to return to feeding her charge.

Slim ate a few more bites, drank some coffee, and then clearing his throat, said, "I should probably let you walk on into trouble without sayin' anything, but it's my neck and Jess's too, on the line. . . . Have you noticed the sky this morning?"

"No, Mr. Sherman, why should we take note of the sky?" asked Wen.

Forcing a cough he knew Jess would recognize as fake, Slim said, "_Raines_ coming. If the _Core_ of the storm passes directly over us, we're gonna get _Mort_'n a _Peck_ a rain." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jess's shoulders stiffen.

"You'd better get extra food cooked while there's dry wood for a fire and get the wagons battened down before the bad weather hits. If you've never been in a thunderstorm on top of one of these mountains, you have no idea how much damage the wind and lightning can do."

He coughed again and cleared his throat, "My Pa used to tell about a prospector he knew, superstitious as all get out, who swore by that old rhyme: Red sky at mornin', Sailors take warnin', Red sky at night, Sailors delight."

A warm spark of satisfaction spread through Jess,_ 'And that prospector was Ari, the old Dutchman Andy was always pesterin' Slim to tell us about. Slim and me both solved the riddle. It all fits like a hand in a glove.'_

Jess tossed his cup down, making sure it would land close to Slim's end of the log.

Pausing at the clanking of a tin coffee mug rolling along the ground, Slim gloated, '_Jess got my message_.'

Nodding toward the dawn, Slim finished, "And there's a red sky if ever I saw one." Brilliant bands of vermilion and cerise and a dozen shades of crimson stretched long fingers out of the eastern sky as thunderheads billowed upward to tower over the snow-shrouded peaks of the Laramie Range.

Mid-morning, Jess grinned as he looked over at Bill Doolin. "Well, Bill, guess it's time you let me in on the secret of how to get an invitation to visit Mr. Li's rollin' hotel without gettin' my head blowed off."

"Why?" Doolin demanded.

Jess drawled, "He's got the key to these blasted handcuffs, and I need to ask him pretty-please to take 'em off. Coffee's done made its way through my system."

All of the men Doolin had seen shackled like Harper had quickly been humbled by the chain and the frustration of having only one hand free, but not this time. Harper was prickly and often unpredictable, but his current good mood had surprised Bill. And Bill knew the Chinese were going to be amazed.

"Pull up here, Harper, and I'll tell Mr. Wen." They waited beside the road as the first two prairie schooners passed them by. Doolin kneed his mount close and conversed in a low tone with Wen who nodded and climbed down to walk back to Li's quarters.

Li's sulky voice could be heard asking why they had stopped. Wen called out his name and then clamored into the wagon when given permission. A low murmur was heard from within, Wen reappeared, climbed down, and returned to his own wagon.

His left hand propped on the saddle horn, Jess sat quietly, loosely holding the reins. Doolin fidgeted, leather creaking as he shifted his boots in the stirrups, his rump on the saddle. He slid his sidearm halfway out of the holster, then shoved it back in place. Leaning forward, he brushed at the flies making his pony's hide twitch.

When Li finally appeared, he feigned surprise to see Jess and Doolin waiting beside his wagon. "May I help you with something, Mr. 'Arper?"

Jess adjusted his hat, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before replying, "Sure can. Reckon I can get my hand free long enough to answer the call of nature? I ain't needed nobody to take me to the outhouse since I outgrowed knee pants, but if that's what you want, Mr. Li, I'm happy to oblige ya. Do you want to lead me over behind them bushes?"

Harper had spoken loudly. His voice would have carried easily to Wen and his American driver. There was a stifled sound, suspiciously like a muffled laugh, which must have come from Sherman. Li's face slowly turned from its usual pale jaundiced shade to reveal two bright spots of anger on his cheeks.

Li Zong flung a small key toward Bill Doolin and disappearing, dropped the end curtain into place. The wagon shifted from side to side and noises which sounded remarkably like objects being thrown continued while Bill swung down, searched around the dusty road and then motioned for Jess to dismount as well.

He jerked his head to let Harper know to turn around and swiftly released Jess's hand. Lifting his right arm into the air and rotating his shoulder, then stretching his bent arm across to grip his left bicep, Jess sauntered out of sight, calling back to brazenly ask, "_You_ want to babysit me, Bill?"

"Nah, I'm gonna get this expedition movin' again. Hurry back, I'll wait right here." To himself, Bill thought, _'That skirmish goes to Harper. But I wouldn't want to be in his boots when Mr. Li decides to get even.'_

Jess knew he would have to pay the piper for calling Li out and embarrassing him in the bargain, but he decided it was worth it for the satisfaction of getting back some of his own. Li had had the upper hand since Angel Duvall duped him into carrying her luggage, and it felt good to return the favor.

The remainder of the day passed without incident; Wen told Doolin to keep the handcuff key and there were no more games from Li. Matter of fact, Li didn't show his face at all, nor allow Slim out of his wagon. Supper was a somber affair, everyone still on edge.

Not having caught sight of Li's _baomu_ since she confronted Li Zong the previous night, Jess finally asked, "Bill, have you seen Li Zhen?"

"I saw her this mornin' before breakfast. She's ridin' in the last wagon along with some of the other women. And she took a bowl into Mr. Li's quarters when we stopped for the noonin'; figured she brought it for Sherman."

"Li wouldn't hurt her would he? He was awful mad last night."

"He might take some privileges away from her or force her to do extra chores, but I think even he was surprised when she called him Li Wuqing and that's what made him so mad."

"He won't try to get back at her later?" Jess asked worriedly.

"Don't know, Harper. I've heard tall tales about Wuqing the Merciless from Mr. Wen, and they'll raise the hair on your head. But Li had to save face when Gang and the others turned on him. It's why he come after Sherman."

Jess nodded while Doolin continued, "The others will protect Zhen and Mr. Li knows it, so she's safe as long as Gang is around."

Wen was standing at Jess's side while Bill arranged blankets under one of the wagons. "How close are we to turning off the road, Mr. 'Arper?"

"By tomorrow afternoon we'll have to start leavin' wagons behind."

Wen disagreed, "Mr. Li's must be taken with us. The others can be abandoned, but Mr. Li wants to travel with his own furnishings as long as possible."

"Sinners in Hell want ice water, too. Take along anything ya want, but it'll slow us down and don't forget there's summer storms brewin'," Jess retorted.

Tossing and turning, Jess had another restless night, unable to get comfortable with his arm twisted behind his back. He had to admit it was a sure-fire way to get someone's attention, and enough to convince them not to try anything to make it happen again. Jess was not anxious to repeat the experience. Not any time soon.

**Chapter 39 Tempest**

Something had been nagging at the back of Jess's mind, and it finally surfaced while they ate breakfast, "Bill, I know this part of the trail ain't as heavily traveled as the Cheyenne side heading into the west, but it seems to me we shoulda seen more'n a few squirrels an' deer yesterday; met at least a couple of parties comin' outta the pass, headin' down from up north."

He paused to swallow the last of his coffee, "Would you know anything about that?"

"Mr. Wen figured there'd be too many questions from anybody catchin' sight a you with yore arm in them handcuffs," Doolin answered promptly, "So Hong and a few of the others have been discouraging anybody who looked like they might interfere with our travel plans."

Jess, stunned, stared aghast at Bill Doolin, "Bill, what've they done?"

"There ain't been no loss a life, Harper." Bill said roughly. "Earl Davis, one of my compadres, has been camped out at the cutoff, encouragin' everybody to take a shortcut, save some time. Hong cleared out a bunch of undergrowth, moved a few markers, set up a detour. Or ya might call it a new part of the Oregon Trail. And no, I ain't lyin'. Mr. Li don't want questions asked no more'n you do."

Jess was getting ready to hand his plate and cup to Doolin when a loud crash and piercing shriek came from across the clearing. The tripod holding the huge kettle used to cook rice had shifted, dumping part of the contents into the blazing fire pit. There was also a pan of hot grease left from breakfast, and when the fat spilled, the fire exploded, catching the skirt of the young Chinese woman struggling to right the kettle. Jess leaped over the rising flames and caught the girl around her waist, throwing her to the ground and using his hand to attack the fire licking around her legs.

He turned her over and over in the dirt, cursing the flames inching their way up her skirt. Bill Doolin joined him, throwing a saddle blanket over her to quench the last sparks. Jess was panting, sweat streaming down his face and neck. He tried to support himself on his elbows, but fell back to lie on the ground. Doolin used his hat to beat at the smoke curling from the sleeve of Jess's jacket. Li Zhen appeared from somewhere, and poured a bucket of water over the blanket covering the screaming woman, before one of the men picked her up and carried her to the last wagon.

Jess was rolling back and forth on the ground, his knees pulled up almost to his chest. "Bill," he groaned, "The glove. . . take off the glove!" Tears trickled down his cheeks, leaving white streaks in the dirt and grime covering his face.

Doolin crouched down beside Harper, finally having to straddle him to keep Jess still long enough to grab his wrist and yank off the leather glove. "Oh, God, Jess!" Bill's exclamation came out as more of a prayer than a curse, "Hold still a second. Hold still, dammit! I've got to scrape the coals off. They're eatin' into your hand!"

Zhen rushed up and plunged Jess's arm into a pail of water. Jess gasped at the cold, but didn't offer to remove his arm. Li Zhen took possession of his hand and dipped a towel in the bucket, squeezing the cool liquid over his palm again and again. She barked an order and one of the women hurried to her side, bringing a square of white cloth and a covered jar.

Li Zhen took a corner of the towel and cleaned Jess's face. She stroked her small hand gently across his forehead, "Mr. 'Arper, I have ointment to ease pain. But you must lie still."

"Yes, ma'am, if you'll hurry." He lay motionless, but his breathing was fast and shallow, his features haggard. He didn't open his eyes; perspiration continued to course down his face, trickling through the rough sandpaper of his beard and pooling in the hollow of his throat.

A numbing sensation swept over Jess's fingers, then the back of his hand and finally the palm. It wasn't instantaneous, but nearly so.

"You, ma'am, are a miracle worker!" He took a deep breath, exhaled and opened his eyes. "You could make a fortune bottlin' that stuff! What's in it anyway?"

"Ancient Chinese secret!" Li Zhen told him with a laugh. "Pain will return, but I do again and it will go away!"

"Yes, Ma'am! I'll let you know as soon as it starts to act up."

"Only one danger, with pain gone, allows man to use hand too much, make hurt longer, make hurt worse. Must remember hand burned, not healed by medicine, only numb."

"Yes, ma'am. I ain't likely to forget for long!"

Mr. Li's gruff, impatient voice echoed across the clearing, "Mr. Wen, get these wagons on the road." He roared, "Now! No more delays!"

Despite Mr. Li's directive, Li Zhen brought a cup of willow bark tea and insisted Jess drink it. He shuddered at the bitter taste but manfully downed it in two big gulps and gratefully handed her the cup.

Doolin helped Jess to his feet and gave him a boost into the saddle. "That was fast thinkin', Harper. Mr. Wen says the girl ain't hurt much at all. It could've been a whole lot worse!"

"That's good, Bill! Burns are worrisome things."

"And don't forget what Zhen said about you askin' for more of that salve!"

Jess nodded, holding the reins loosely in his bandaged hand as they swung out on the road. He could feel blood dripping from the fingers of his gun hand, soaking into the seat of his pants. The constant pressure of the manacles had rubbed his wrist raw and his thrashing as he put out the flames had inflicted more damage. Jess wholeheartedly wished for some of Li Zhen's ointment to ease the throbbing of that pain.

Gusts grew steadily stronger, whistling in the tops of the trees, bending the smaller ones almost in half. Maple leaves, always a harbinger of changing weather, turned their silvery backs to the wind. Contrary winds swirled around them, tangling the manes and tails of the horses, twisting leaves and twigs across their path, making the animals ever more skittish. The oppressive atmosphere gave a sense of impending danger and made for short tempers all around.

Doolin and Jess were riding alongside the lead wagon when they rounded a curve and the forest fell away to their right. The Chinese driver pulled the team to a halt after Jess spoke softly, "Resurrection Pass. Won't be long now till the turn off." He was as awed by the magnificent sight as the first time he had seen it while hunting elk with Slim.

Rank by rank and tier after tier the Rockies rose to ever greater heights in the far distance. Snow glistened at their peaks, great hawks and eagles as well as lesser birds rode their thermals, faraway sheets of rain showed up as rippling grey curtains. They were rugged in their beauty and stark in their isolation, cloaked in an almost impassable forest and protected by sheer cliffs and precipitous drops, clear waterfalls and rushing streams. Lush, green stands of pine and fir and cedar and uncounted hardwoods, golden accents of aspen and birch, fiery red sumac and vast fields of wildflowers all vied for attention.

These Rockies, that focused the continent's watershed, which framed and directed the Continental Divide, were not the worn and rounded ancient Appalachians of the East, those winding their way from Maine to Georgia. These were young mountains for a young country; their jagged, unclothed spine that of a sleeping dragon.

Taking little time to enjoy the view, Doolin sang out, "Wagons, Ho!" causing a doe and her fawn to break from cover. Their panicked flight took them across the road, almost under the noses of the team pulling the second wagon. The lead horses snorted and tried to bolt, rearing and bumping into one another, each one fueling the other's fright.

The driver couldn't hold the team as they attempted to flee around the lead wagon. When the rear wheel slipped off the road, the heavy Conestoga tilted and almost in slow motion, the driver jumped from the seat, the doubletree holding the horses to the wagon tongue parted and there was an ear-splitting crack as the wagon overturned and crashed to its side. The canvas bonnet slapped against the gyrating branches overhead and two wheels creaked as they continued to spin in the sudden stillness.

Jess wheeled his mount to the rear when he heard the horses neighing, and standing in the stirrups, he stared in amazement at the damage behind him.

'_Troubles always come in threes,'_ he thought, '_The broken wagon makes two; now I've just gotta be on the lookout for one more._'

The ruined wagon was left behind, the tools transferred to pack horses and the other wagons, but Jess told them it would have happened in a few miles anyway. They were nearing the spot they would leave the road and strike across country.

Jess had been off his feed all day and he cussed a blue streak under his breath. He was increasingly frustrated at dealing with the reality of forking a nervous mount using only one burnt hand. In the last hour Doolin had seen Jess's actions become erratic, totally unlike his usual poise and grace. Mr. Wen was watching Harper, too, a thoughtful expression on his face.

However, Wen had his own problems; his nose had been leaking a pink frothy fluid since before the wagon had turned over, and the evidence was getting harder to hide from Doolin and Harper. . .and especially Li Zong.

Mr. Wen's benefactor did not tolerate weakness in any form.

Wen Zhengchong valued his position too highly to abdicate and he knew too much for Mr. Li to merely leave him behind. But Mr. Li would never accept that Wen had no control over his body's reaction to the altitude. So the bloody fluid would have to remain a secret until the sickness ran its course.

Jess took off his hat and wiped his face with his sleeve. He slumped in the saddle and then straightened, scowling at the surrounding landscape.

Now, Doolin and Wen watched as Harper dismounted, cursing as he slowly turned himself in a circle. Bill also swung down, anxious to see what Jess was up to. Jess demanded to see the Lost Dutchman map. He looked it over, while staring at the cliffs which rose to staggering heights along both sides of the road.

"Bill, you said Li sent Slim a map?" Jess shook the rolled up map as he asked his question.

"Yeah, why," Bill slowly replied.

"Can I see that one, too? Somethin' ain't right. I was expectin' to find a break in the mountains before we'd come this far."

"I'll ask. Wait here," Doolin answered as he backed away to confer with Mr. Wen.

"Sherman didn't bring the map along, Harper. He was supposed to mail the map and directions tellin' how to get to the Lost Dutchman, but instead he struck out after Angelique Duvalier. And you know the rest."

"Then Doolin . . . I need to see Slim."

Bill Doolin used his boot heel to drag a furrow across the dusty road and Mr. Wen had done the same a short distance from Mr. Li's quarters. "No closer than this, Harper! Understand? Mr. Li ain't happy so nobody's gonna be happy, got it?"

"Yeah, Bill, I got it," Jess wearily replied. His wrist was giving him fits and he wanted nothing so much as to lie down somewhere and quietly get drunk enough to pass out. _'Hell, chloroform is even beginnin' to sound good!'_

"Alright, no slip-ups or you'll live to regret it, I promise you," Bill threatened as Sherman was helped down from Li's wagon.

Slim approached them slowly. He took stock of Jess as he walked to the line drawn in the dirt, _'Charred sleeve, streaks of soot and dirt on his jeans and jacket, raccoon circles under his eyes, about five days growth of beard, one hand's wrapped up, the other one still chained behind him.'_

He halted as one of his guards' rifle slammed against his chest.

"You alright, Jess?"

"I'm fine." The usual reply. But Jess had hesitated just a shade too long.

"Tell that to somebody who'll believe it. What happened to your hand?"

Jess glanced down at his bandaged hand and wiggled his fingers but didn't answer. Instead, he asked, "You okay, Pard?"

"I'm mad."

Jess aimed a quick look towards Li, "Anything I should know about?"

Slim paused to roll a rock out from under his foot, "It'll keep."

Li Zong interrupted, "Enough. Say what you wanted, Mr. 'Arper."

"Slim, did they send you a map like we saw in Jackson City when you was accused of murderin' George Lake?"

"Yeah."

"Did you bring it with you?"

"Nope."

"Did you get all the landmarks memorized?"

"Yep."

"Dad-gummit, Slim, didn't ya think _I_ might need to see it?"

Slim's eyes opened wide with surprise, "No, Jess, I wasn't aimin' to stick around once I found you. We were gonna high-tail it back to Cheyenne and let the law handle the rest."

"Oh. . . . Well, that makes sense, I guess."

"You guess? What's the matter with you, Jess?"

"Ain't nothin' the matter with me." But Jess couldn't meet Slim's eyes.

"I was trying to protect you by leavin' the map behind."

"I reckon that makes sense, too."

"Jess! Look at me. What's the matter?"

"Nothin'. I thought there was a valley angling off to the west, but these dang bluffs don't have a break in 'em anywhere." Cold beads of sweat popped out on Jess's forehead, but he dared not lift a hand to wipe them away.

Slim lifted his eyes to the surrounding mountains, taking note Resurrection Pass was visible several miles to the north-east. He had been shut up inside Li's wagon and had not seen the countryside since the morning before.

"I'm pretty sure we're only a mile or two from the valley. We haven't gotten far enough down the trail yet, but it's the same place I figured to cut west."

To convince Slim there was truly nothing wrong with him, Jess hurriedly came back with, "Good. Reckon I jumped the gun."

Mr. Li decreed the questioning was at an end and had Slim returned to his usual confinement. As soon as Slim was out of sight, Jess wilted.

Doolin grabbed him and half dragged him to the tail gate of the nearest wagon. "What's goin' on, Harper?"

"I was afraid if Slim saw how bad I was hurtin', he'd do somethin' stupid. Then I'd have to do somethin' stupider. And we'd both end up hurt worse'n I am now.

"Like Sherman said, what's wrong with you?"

Li Zhen popped her head out of the wagon. "Foolish boy not tell when pain take over. Unlock chain, need room to work on arm."

Ruefully, Jess figured it was a good thing he didn't understand Chinese. He knew he was probably being called seven kinds of a fool, his parentage was being called into question and from the expression on the Chinese driver's face, Li Zhen had the vocabulary of a mule-skinner.

In short order, he was flat on his back on a pile of blankets. The chain had been tossed off the back of the wagon, the hand-cuffs flung hard to join it and he was wincing as Li Zhen, none too gently, cleaned the blood and pus from his swollen, lacerated wrist. Her tirade had never let up and he was beginning to wonder if she would ever tire of berating him in both Chinese and broken English.

Zhen slathered Jess's wrist in the numbing salve before wrapping it in a clean dressing. She left him with a warning, according to Wen, that roughly translated to, '_She will cook. . .no-roast. . .you herself if you do not obey her rules'_, followed by an obscenity that made Wen blush and that he refused to translate.

Doolin was helping Jess to climb down from the wagon when Li Zhen reappeared. She shoved a cup at Jess and began removing the wrappings from his burnt hand.

Jess gave her a guilty look as he put the mug to his lips. He had been expecting more of the bitter tea, but one sip and he eagerly drank it all and used his tongue to lick the little stream running down the outside.

"Ma'am, you are somethin'," Jess said admiringly. "And you must be a mind reader, too," he told her, beaming, "How'd you know I'd been wishin' for enough whiskey to let me pass out till my hands were feelin' better?"

Tying off a bandage, Zhen threw an angry look in Jess's direction. "Ouch, that's too tight!" She glowered at him and Jess had the good grace to apologize, "I'm sorry. I thought we should've already been to the turn and I could make it to there."

Slim's guards lifted him onto the bale of silks which had become his bed, but he pushed himself up till he was half-sitting and stared at Li across from him. Li stared back but didn't say anything.

Tiring of the game to see who would be the first to blink, Slim shifted his gaze so he could concentrate on what was going on with Jess.

'_Jess might think he fooled me but I've seen the games he plays when there's a question he don't want to answer. . . ._

'_After a hard day's work, Jess usually looks like he's been dragged by his spurs through a briar patch. But this is somethin' more. . . he's been through some kind of hell. Looks like he's lost better'n ten pounds, his sleeve's singed and his hand was wrapped up. . . .'_

Li Zong interrupted, "Your face betrays you, Mr. Sherman. Share your thoughts?"

Slim ignored him. He had learned that annoyed Li more than anything else he could do.

Finally, Slim turned his head and coldly asked a question of his own, "What did you do to Jess?" His tough, defiant gaze bored into the Oriental man.

"What do you think I did?" Although his words were confident, Li was the first to look away.

"Not you directly, but I know you've had somethin' done to hurt him."

Slim Sherman radiated belligerence. Li had no doubt he would be attacked if Sherman thought there was the slightest chance to free himself and his partner, right now, with an armed guard and his arms lashed down.

Li Zong had a vague sense of unease. He'd had it ever since Harper implied he wanted to watch him do his business. Disgusting!

But Li was increasingly troubled and it suddenly became clear why: neither of these impudent American cowboys was afraid of him! They didn't seem to care he held the power of life and death over them.

An icy chill crawled across Li Zong's neck. He finally recognized that unfamiliar prickling sensation as fear. Li decided he didn't care for it in the least. "Halt the wagon. Get Wen Zhongcheng."

Mr. Wen came on the run, panting with exertion. Li Zong told him, in Chinese, "Get three guards, and the heavy boot. I want Sherman wearing the Oregon boot from now on."

Wen nodded and bowed himself out of the wagon. He was back in a few minutes with three burly Oriental men, and one of Slim Sherman's cowboy boots. Metallic grating noises edged their way inside the wagon.

When Slim saw Wen carrying his boot, he quickly guessed what they intended to do. He pushed himself as far into a corner as he could get, and kicked out as the men approached but knew it was impossible to escape.

At Wen's command, they stood him on his feet and forced his knee to bend so the heavy iron strap attached to the Oregon boot could be locked in place.

"Why resist, Mr. Sherman? You knew the inevitable result."

"Go to hell!"

"Not very original, Mr. Sherman. You and Mr. 'Arper fascinate me. . .why continue to struggle when the outcome is obvious? I am determined to have the Lost Dutchman treasure."

Slim retreated into sullen silence,_ 'And I'm determined to stop you. You're only after the gold. I'm fighting for our lives.'_

About an hour after they started out again, the cut they were looking for appeared, as Slim had predicted. Jess and Bill waited at the side of the road while Mr. Wen supervised a work crew to clear a right-of-way for the wagons, straggling along in the wake of the men hacking out a rough track.

The last Conestoga was disappearing behind a screen of trees when Mr. Wen motioned for Doolin to join him. Jess barely glanced up until he heard a carriage and several horses.

Twisting in the saddle, Jess groaned aloud when he recognized Angelique Duvalier waving to attract his attention. She rode at the head of a group of horsemen, closely followed by an elaborate coach, with all the storm curtains tied down and up top, a tarp wrapped tightly over obvious lumps of luggage.

A harsh whiff of ozone sizzled in the air as lightning split a huge pine, catching it on fire. That was followed by a stupendous clap of thunder shredding the very air around them. Jess's horse screamed. The gelding flung its head up, knocking Jess's hat off and almost unseating him. Jess cried out, blood streaming down his face. With only one hand to grip the reins, there was no way he could control his spooked mount. Doolin could see what was happening, but he had his hands full with his own terrified pony.

Jess's horse reared again and Harper pitched off. Unable to cushion his fall with hands or flailing legs, he rolled over several times, layer after layer of leaves and twigs cocooning his clothes and hair. He finally came to rest on his side against one of the larger rocks littering the scrub.

By the time Bill Doolin got his mount under control and made his way over to Harper, stinging pellets of hail were peppering the ground in advance of the threatened storm. Fat raindrops began to splash down as Doolin turned Harper over on his back, brushing at the blood and debris coating his face and hair, "Jess. . . Jess, are you hurt?"

Jess roused and faintly shook his head. Bill leaned close to hear Harper whisper, "That makes three," before he sighed and closed his eyes against the rain.

**Chapter 40 Year of the Monkey, 1872**

Wen thought he was caught up in a Chinese New Year celebration: the thunder and lightning stood in for fireworks, and the neighing, rearing, maddened horses were a good substitute for the dancers and dragon effigy. Two of his watchers had arrived to report a coach and riders, one woman among them, were approaching from the rear. Wen had hurried to tell Bill Doolin so he would be prepared for their arrival, when lightning split the tree and all hell broke loose.

There was 'Arper falling from his horse, Doolin fighting to control his mount, the Duvalier woman and four mounted men struggling to keep from being unseated and an older man sawing at the reins of a team pulling a violently swaying coach. Hoarse cries and curses flowed around him, the harsh, discordant babble of English impossible to understand in the hubbub from animals and coach and people. And over it all the continuous crashing, rumbling thunder, the searing, almost constant bolts of lightning and the cold vicious gusts of wind hammering at them. Undoubtedly a scene from the underworld. . . .

The French army officer had dismounted and helped Miss Duvalier to swing down as well. They both hurried over to Doolin who was crouched over a disheveled and clearly injured young man. Angelique asked anxiously, "Is he hurt badly?"

Doolin glanced up before tersely replying, "Don't know yet. He was bucked off his horse, but I haven't had a chance to look him over."

An accented voice inquired, "Monsieur, will you allow us to help you? We have a tent which can be erected in a matter of minutes and he will be out of the rain so you can examine him more easily."

Without waiting for an answer, Alain Roqueville turned to his companions, standing uneasily in the background, and instructed them to clear a space in the underbrush to set up the floor boards of their large tent and move it into place. Calling out in French, his orders had two other men scurrying to stretch a tarp from the back boot of the coach and drop a side panel to protect the brazier which was soon providing hot water to bathe the injured man and make coffee or tea for the rest.

Three of them carefully lifted Harper, and laid him on a campaign cot inside the tent. With Angelique, Doolin, Roqueville, Wen, and the two large Federal officers who were posing as Count Duvalier's gunslingers, the tent was packed, but none of them wanted to miss any of the excitement.

Li Zhen elbowed her way through the crowd and glared at Doolin until he relinquished his place next to Jess. He had been unbuttoning Harper's shirt but she took over the task and when one of the men stepped on her toes, turned to say frostily, "Need to look after man. Leave if cannot help."

Roqueville suggested Miss Duvalier join her father inside the coach to stay dry, the gunmen he ordered to find wood for a fire and clicking his heels together smartly, the lieutenant exited as well.

"Li Zhen, how bad is he?" Bill Doolin queried anxiously.

"Not know. Too soon. Bruises, many scrapes, but find no broken bones."

Wen broke in, "We need to move him to one of the wagons. It is impossible to defend ourselves in this tent; we must get Mr. 'Arper to a safer place. I will double the guards at our camp to deter an attack from Count Duvalier's gunmen."

"We could take them out first," Doolin suggested, "Not wait for an attack."

"No, I must inform Mr. Li what is happening. He is not aware the Duvaliers and their hired guns have joined us or that Mr. 'Arper has been hurt," Wen replied, "Perhaps it will be best to capture such able-bodied men and force them to dig for Mr. Li's gold."

Doolin nodded and they shared an understanding glance at the prospects they had been presented.

Mort Cory, Peck, Delgado and Alain Roqueville were standing under the coach's lean-to with Theo Jenkins and the Duvalier's French chef. Sam cautiously asked, "Bunk, can you hear me?"

From overhead, the muffled reply came back immediately, "Yeah, what the hell's goin' on?"

"We met up with Li about the same time a bolt of lightning split a big pine and set it on fire off a little ways in the woods. Harper—at least I think it's Harper—got thrown and the rest of us had our hands full tryin' to calm our ponies down to keep from bein' dumped off ourselves."

Peck turned to Sheriff Cory, "It _was_ Jess Harper who got thrown, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Mort replied miserably, "I've seen Jess stick a whole lot rougher ride than that, though. Breakin' horses is part of what he does for a livin'."

"Not handcuffed I'll wager."

"You joshin' me? Jess was handcuffed?"

"Yeah, his hand is cuffed behind him, fastened to a chain around his waist. And blood was streaming down his face from a cut over his eye. He wasn't out cold, but the next thing to it."

All the men saw anger settle over Cory at news of Harper's injuries. They recognized his intentions as he loosened his iron in the holster and turned toward the tent housing his friend.

Sam caught the Laramie lawman's elbow and held on while quietly counseling, "Not now, Mort! We've got to stick with our plan. We don't even know where Sherman is and Alain has told us there's over twenty men to account for. We need to give Rolly and Joe Smiley time to corral a bunch of Li's men to keep them off our backs when we do make a move."

Sam let go of Cory's arm, "Why don't you go around the backside of the coach and slip inside to let Marshal Raines know what's goin' on?"

Mort nodded his acceptance and pulled his hat lower before moving out into the driving rain.

"I want you to get the horses settled for the night, Rick, and decide among yourselves who's gonna stand first duty. Take it in two hour shifts and I'll stand the dawn watch since I'll probably be awake anyway."

'_Damn the man! Without a gun, there's no way to reach them in time, but I can't just stand here while Jess is bein' attacked.'_ With a shout, Slim Sherman sat bolt upright in the surrounding darkness. A rush of running feet and excited voices, yammering in a foreign tongue, beat at his senses, refusing to come to order. A sudden bright light forced Slim to turn his eyes away from the glare. Finally, panting and wild-eyed, heart pounding in his throat, he began to get his bearings.

Zhen came at Li's demand to offer Slim a drink of cold, bitter liquid he swallowed with distaste but which allowed his breathing and heart to slow.

'_It all seemed so real,'_ Slim shuddered at the remembered image of Jess's broken body being slammed to the ground by the huge Chinese man they called _"Gang". _Mulling over ways to free Jess and escape the grasp of the madman who held them prisoner, Slim lay awake until dawn.

"I heard yelling and saw a bunch runnin' around right before dawn this morning. I'll bet my bottom dollar the yellin' was coming from Slim Sherman and he's in the third wagon over there." Sam Peck nodded toward the string of prairie schooners barely visible through the line of trees to their west.

"They carried Harper over to the second one and there's been guards out all night, not only around the wagons, but they've set themselves up a rough perimeter and are patrolling like sentries walkin' a beat for ole Billy Sherman hisself. I think we've ruffled some feathers, so all of ya keep your eyes peeled and if any of ya get an itchy feelin' between your shoulder blades, hit the mud and sing out loud and clear."

"Miss Angelique, are you up to this?" Marshal Peck inquired solicitously. The young woman had been handed a hearty dose of reality. Her pale face and wan smile mute testimony of the turbulent turn her life had taken over the last few days.

"We're gonna act real neighborly and wander over to ask if there's anything we can do to get this expedition on the road. Maybe extend an invitation to join us for dinner tonight. And we're gonna make it appear your father's in charge, understand?"

Angelique straightened and looked up at the lieutenant, "I can play my part, marshal. Alain has forgiven me which gives me courage to do what's right."

Jess groaned as he moved his legs and then his arms, surprised both arms were free. His thoughts drifted_, 'Should I open my eyes? Nope, lay here a few minutes. Rest till somebody makes me get up. That's usually Slim's job.' _Cracking his eyes open a slit, he gradually took in his surroundings. Barely daylight. Painfully, Jess turned his head to see Zhen quietly watching him.

"Mornin', Li Zhen. Got any more red-eye whiskey on ya?" Jess asked cheerfully, "I could sure use a drink or three." The grimace of pain flitting across his face belied his playful words.

He chuckled wryly, _''Reckon it's a good thing Slim's along to make me get up off my ass. . . it's sore, too. . . and get movin'.'_

Jess grunted as he sat up. His ribs and shoulders had taken a beating when he was thrown from his horse. The muscles of his right arm were already stressed from the pull of the manacles, and now both arms had matching bruises.

Zhen handed Jess a canteen and he reached for it, moaning at the effort required to simply quench his thirst.

Wen Zhongcheng shoved aside the curtain and scrambled over the front seat. Without preamble, he asked, "Mr. 'Arper, how much further is it to the mine?"

Jess hesitated before answering, "I don't know."

Shocked, Wen echoed Jess's statement, "You do not know?"

Jess sat hunched over, nursing his arm as Zhen worked her magic, "No. I've been unconscious, I'm guessin' since last night, so I don't know how far the caravan traveled after I got thrown."

"You're stallin', Harper," Bill Doolin cut in, "You need to answer Mr. Wen right now."

"I might be stallin', but I'd be crazy to tell you how far it is to the Lost Dutchman! The only reason me or Slim Sherman are alive right now is because you can't find the mine without us. So why should I do anything to make it one speck easier for you to figure where we're headed?" Jess flung back.

"You'll pay for this, Harper," Bill promised angrily.

Doolin tapped Jess's arm and gestured for him to extend his hand to refasten the cuff. Shoving the ratchet through the keeper, he tightened the steel around Harper's bandaged wrist. Jess couldn't stop a sharp gasp when his arm was roughly jerked behind his back and fastened to the chain.

Hoping to time their arrival in Li's camp to the moment Mr. Wen appeared, Sam Peck rehearsed his actors so their meeting seemed a happy coincidence. It was a bonus Harper was being helped from the wagon by a tall, thin cowboy with a tied down holster. Peck took a few quick strides and caught hold of Harper's arm under the guise of steadying him as he wobbled on contact with the ground.

Harper tried to jerk away, but Peck held on as Jess demanded, "Who are you?" An angry grimace flitted over Jess's face when he caught sight of Angelique standing beside Count Duvalier and Lieutenant Roqueville.

"From the expression on your mug, I'd say you remember my employer," Sam chuckled, "You must be Harper, and my name is Marshall. Sam. . . Marshall." Tightening his grip for a second, Peck extended his arm for a friendly handshake. Jess's eyes flicked over '_Sam Marshall_' and dismissed him in one disdainful glance while he continued to walk stiffly toward his waiting mount.

Inside Li's wagon, Slim strained to hear after he recognized Sam Peck's distinctive brogue. '_Oh, you're good, Sam. Not an outright lie just not the whole truth.'_

"Boy, you look like you've been rode hard and put up wet. You must've pissed somebody off but good to get in this kinda fix." Peck goaded, keeping pace with Harper.

Bill Doolin got between Sam and Jess, his gun drawn and pointed at Sam's head. "Leave it be. Why don't you walk back over with Miss Duvalier before I part your hair with this gun barrel?" Bill demanded.

"Marshall, quit acting the uncouth boor and come here this minute!" Count Duvalier demanded, "You are out of line! Apologize and let's get our business taken care of before you get your head blown off, although that may be an improvement!"

Desmond Duvalier, tall and rapier-thin, with a shock of snow white hair and elegantly trimmed mustache and goatee, left no doubt as to who was in charge. His aristocratic bearing, born of decades of privilege, made it obvious he was used to being obeyed without question. Mumbling an apology, Marshall slunk off to stand awkwardly behind his employers.

As soon as they returned to the Duvalier camp, Peck sought out Sheriff Cory, "Mort, don't know if you could see from over here, but I tried to get Harper to shake hands."

"Yeah, Sam, I was watchin' and you sure took a crack at it. Jess ain't the most trustin' soul at the best of times." Mort shook his head ruefully, "After all he's been through, I'd bet Jess's temper ain't long enough to measure."

"It would've made things a whole lot simpler if I'd been able to slip Harper your handcuff key." The Federal marshal dropped a small key onto Mort Cory's outstretched palm, "We'll just have to figure some other way."

Sam Peck gathered everybody under the cook tent, "Count Duvalier told Wen and Doolin we would help chop out the trail today, so we should be safe till we stop for the night, but be expectin' to get jumped any time later. Remember, I don't want any dead heroes. Rolly, Joe, Bunk and Thad will get us out of whatever fix we find ourselves in."

Pausing to scratch his head before jamming his Stetson back in place, Peck told them bluntly, "Any of you tin stars what come back here with more holes in your hide than you started with will put me into a pure snit, understand?"

Peck pointed his finger at each of the men, ending with Delgado, "I mean it, Rick, you better not cut a shine. We _want_ to be taken prisoner."

The assembled lawmen all nodded agreement before Sam continued, "We seem to be workin' our way through the plagues of Egypt. So far we've faced hail and fire and last night was dark as the inside of a pocket. Flies are swarmin' everywhere and locusts are makin' a racket fit to wake the dead."

Sam glanced up at the fast-moving black tinged cloud cover, "I'll bet my Old Aunt Tempe Pruny Perline's bloomers the little peeper frogs come out tonight to add to the caterwaulin'. . . . We ain't gonna be able to hear anybody sneakin' around, but Li's men won't cope any better."

**Chapter 41 No Dime Novel**

All those who survived the final day's journey to the Lost Dutchman Mine remembered it with loathing as one of the worst days of their lives.

The Duvaliers's hired gunmen and Lieutenant Roqueville fell to with a vengeance helping Li's retainers cut trees and use shovels and picks to smooth a track for the wagons and coach to follow. Even with all their care, the wagon carrying the Orientals' food supplies broke an axle and had to be left behind. One of the horses had to be destroyed after it broke a foreleg and two more came up lame, trying to wrench the explosives wagon out of a quagmire of oozing sludge. But those were ordinary accidents that could have been anticipated along the trail.

It was the unexpected which made the day so dreadfully horrible.

Throngs of tiny black insects swarmed into the air as the rain ended. Clouds of gnats surrounded the horses and attacked any uncovered human skin. Everyone covered mouths and noses with bandanas or neckerchiefs and buttoned cuffs to try to keep the maddening insects from nipping at them constantly. The horses danced nervously, stamping their feet, snorting and tossing their heads in a vain attempt to escape the billows of annoying creatures.

The rain had also helped free cicadas, locusts, from their underground hibernation and their discordant rasping covered up all other small sounds.

Early on, Doolin knotted a length of cloth around Jess's neck since Harper couldn't manage for himself. Jess nodded his thanks muttering, "The blasted locusts are so loud we couldn't hear a locomotive comin' through."

Jess yanked the bandana from over his mouth and nose, and turned it inside out to wipe his reddened eyes before swinging down to do the same for his mount. Glancing around he could see the horses standing with heads hanging, shuffling their feet, hides rippling as they tried to escape the stinging bites from the hordes of gnats dancing in a roiling pall round them.

Bill Doolin rode close to Harper and demanded, "Why'd you stop? Mount up and let's get goin'."

Jess ignored the question, but thrust his bandana at Doolin and asked him to pour out some water. Bill grudgingly jerked the cap off his canteen and splashed water to soak Jess's neckerchief.

Pushing long strings of white frothy lather to the ground, Jess wiped down his pony's face, neck and chest, as he soothed the frazzled horse and encouraged the ravenous insects to seek another target.

After a few minutes, when Harper continued to tend to his horse, Doolin commanded him to remount, "We've got a couple hours of daylight left. We can set up camp after dark."

"No."

Mr. Wen arrived in time to hear the last of their conversation.

"Look around, both of ya." Jess insisted. "The horses are worn out. They need attention. They've had the worst of it today and us humans ain't in much better shape. We need to camp here for the night. It's as level as anywhere we've been and there's room enough for all the tents and wagons."

Jess kept working over his horse, "Have some of the men gather up wood and let's get some smudge fires goin' to drive the flies away. We're dependin' on these animals and if they ain't tended to, their eyes are gonna get infected and some a them bites are gonna fester. I don't think any of us wanta try walkin' back to Cheyenne."

The air crackled with tension as Harper stood his ground. Lieutenant Roqueville and Duvalier's other men gathered around to listen.

"I think it's about time for Slim and me to compare notes on the exact location of the Lost Dutchman. He's tramped through these hills since he was a kid and knows all the little scoutin' secrets for these crazy valleys and bluffs. There's drop-offs and sink-holes up here can swallow a wagon and team quicker'n you c'n spit."

Jess went on, "You know the mare you had to put down this mornin' after she broke her leg?"

He waited for a beat before he asked, "Did either of you, or anybody else for that matter," lifting his arm he included the group, "Check the fissure she stepped in?"

Receiving no answer, Jess told them, "Well, I did. I dropped in a handful of rocks and it took a long, long time before they hit bottom. Only a narrow crack, but I've seen crevices big enough to swallow a full-grown elk open up right before my eyes. The ground cover hides 'em so well it's like ya dug a bear trap and covered it over. Ya don't even see it before you've sprung the trap."

Doolin and Wen Zhongcheng exchanged a meaningful glance. What they knew and were not about to inform Harper or any of Duvalier's men, was two of their rear guard had not been seen since yesterday. And Wen had just informed Mr. Li another of their sentries had missed his rendezvous this morning.

After a lengthy consultation with Mr. Li, during which Jess and Doolin, "Sam Marshall" and Rick Delgado got several smoky fires burning, Wen announced they would spend the night where they were.

Lieutenant Roqueville gathered his men and returned to their camp. Marshal Peck stayed in the Duvalier camp only long enough to let Rick know where he was headed. He knew he had to listen in as Harper asked Sherman for details about the Lost Dutchman Mine.

The coach driver had tethered their horses close to several small smoky fires trying to keep the flies at bay and they joined him to wipe down the animals and set up a picket line.

Jess watched them go and thought for a minute he saw a familiar silhouette standing near Angelique Duvalier. _'Mort?' _ He blinked and shook his head, his hand too dirty to dig at his tired eyes, but when he looked again, the figures had been obscured by smoke.

'_Wishful hopin', Harper. The cavalry only arrives in the nick of time in them dime novels of Andy's. Slim and me don't have nobody to depend on but ourselves.'_

**Chapter 42 Let My People Go**

As he and Bill approached Li's quarters, Jess wondered at the presence of Gang and three guards with rifles at the ready. The canvas side wall slowly rolled up, Li sitting impassively looking down at the group assembled beside his wagon. Slim sat, one knee bent and his foot braced on the side of a crate. Mr. Wen stood in front of him.

Wen Zhongcheng moved to the side and Jess froze as he saw the heavy Oregon boot strapped around his best friend's foot.

Jess had wondered why Doolin shoved one hand through the chain at his waist as Bill drew his revolver and drove it into Jess's side.

Now he knew.

"Li, you _better_ be protectin' your ornery hide. If I. . . ." He bit off the last of his comment as Doolin twisted the chain tighter.

Slim spoke up, "Don't worry about it, Jess. I don't have a date for the dance on Saturday night, so no reason to be light on my feet."

"Glad you're so dad-blamed cheerful, Slim. But it don't improve my temper one little bit." Jess returned icily, glaring accusingly at Li.

"It'll be fine, Pard. You and me and Mr. Li have some dickerin' to do," Slim assured Jess, turning his head to gaze up at Li.

"Why do you and Mr. 'Arper persist in your assumption you have something to barter or negotiate, Mr. Sherman?" Li asked brusquely.

"Oh, but we do, Mr. Li. If you ever expect to see your treasure in this lifetime." Slim answered confidently, "My demands aren't hard to meet but they are non-negotiable."

"Insufferable!" Li huffed.

"Yeah, you are." Jess replied smugly. A smile hovered at the corners of his mouth, but never reached his eyes. Jess relaxed under Doolin's hand, knowing Slim had some plan worked out for them both.

"I've had a lot of time on my hands, Mr. Li. Time to remember a bunch of details, put two and two together and come up with _more_ than four."

Jess had been through the wringer the last several days. But, now, the sassy way Slim was taking control of this _'audience' _with Li brought a surge of hope.

"Knowing you are a man of your word, Li, I have a sporting proposition for you," Slim offered.

Jess snorted loudly and inelegantly.

"You'd hold the winning cards, if we were playing poker. Or if this were chess, my king would be in danger," Slim continued, ignoring Jess.

"But, I have an ace up my sleeve and I can checkmate _your_ king with my next move."

"Your comparison to games of chance intrigues me, Mr. Sherman. Continue." Li leaned forward expectantly.

"I'll tell you the details I've remembered, but first I want your guarantee you'll honor my demands. I have only two."

Li stiffened at Sherman's effrontery. "No guarantees without first knowing your demands, and what you have to trade. I can obtain the clues you mention by making things very painful for both you and Mr. 'Arper."

"You could." Slim agreed. He saw Jess staring at him like he had lost his mind; but Jess voiced no opinion, content to follow Slim's lead.

"But your threats are gettin' a little old and tired, Li. You know and we know you need us to find the Lost Dutchman. I think we're very, very close. But you'll never find it on your own. It's too well hidden."

A man's sudden full-throated scream, escalating into a long, drawn-out howl of terror rose from the forest behind them. Doolin swung his gun to cover their backs while the sentries brought their rifles to bear. The shout cut off in mid-cry, the locusts' noisy clicks and scrapings rushing in to fill the void.

Predictably, Jess was the first to break the silence, "Sounds like somebody found another sink hole. Do we need to go searchin' for him?"

"Shut up, Harper." Doolin whispered indignantly, "Mr. Li don't need your help."

"I'm not going to insult either one of us by asking you to free me or to let us go if we give you detailed directions to the Lost Dutchman," Slim began.

"The way the land is around here," he continued, "It's dangerous to be walking or riding without being able to haul yourself out of a hole. You need two good hands and sometimes that's not enough to keep you safe, like we just heard."

Jess nodded his agreement.

"What I want is for you to -permanently- take the cuffs and chain off Jess. I say permanently because I can see you thinkin' you'd pulled a fast one on me by taking them off and then turn around and put 'em right back on."

Li acknowledged Slim's intuitive reading of him with an inclination of his head.

"Very well thought out, Mr. Sherman," Li complimented, "What is your second demand?"

"The second one is for Jess to decide. He's the one been puttin' up with all your nastiness, and he's the one who's been hurt. So he gets one thing out of this before either one of us offer any more information on the whereabouts of the mine." Slim turned to his partner.

"Jess?"

"Gimme a minute. There's two or three things will make my life a whole lot easier right now," Jess told them. He did take a few minutes, glancing more than once at Wen or Doolin.

"You can almost smell the gold, Li, so I know you're not about to let us go."

Jess paused, "I want Slim sittin' outside on a wagon so he can see where we're headed."

Kicking at the ground, he added, "I want him able to let me know right off if he sees or hears anything wrong. Or if he notices anything tied to the Lost Dutchman."

It had been a near thing, but Li Zong and Wen Zhoncheng finally agreed to Slim's demands. Jess was adamant he was going no further until he and Slim had a chance to discuss the Lost Dutchman face to face.

A murky, cloud-riven sunset was drifting toward darkness, when Li finally acquiesced. Jess started asking questions even before Bill Doolin had freed his hand. Slim was talking at the same time.

Their questions ran together until nothing could be understood. Finally, Jess barked a short laugh and said, "You first." He pulled the chain from around his waist and rubbed his wrist gingerly to ease the painful scrapes and bruises.

"Thanks, I think," Slim responded, "Have you heard anything strange today?"

"With the racket the locusts are makin' and choppin' saplings and movin' brush all day, there's no way I could've heard anything out of the ordinary over all the background noise."

Slim nodded, "I know, but I've been cooped up inside where sounds are muffled, so I thought you might've noticed something besides the usual critter noises."

"What kinda noises are ya talkin' about, anyhow?" The two friends were under the watchful eyes of Li and Wen. Bill Doolin was more wary of Harper than ever, uncomfortably aware Jess was free from all restraints.

"Not sure, but Ari talked about having the perfect key to keep Indians away from his mine. It was something scared 'em so bad they wouldn't come near his diggings. They always gave it a wide berth. He said he had hid and watched braves more'n once."

Thoughtfully, Jess rubbed his hand over his chin, "Slim, did the old prospector mention if he actually covered up the entrance to his mine shaft?"

"I think it was always tucked outta sight, but he blasted half the cliff beside the opening. It's how he got hurt."

"How'd he figure to get back inside? Ain't no way he'd lock himself out of his own gold mine."

"I suppose he rigged a deadfall." Slim paused again, "But he had everything planned out to the last detail. The stories he told let Pa know he'd already thought how to work his claim, if he could only get back to it."

Li shifted irritably. Nothing the cowboys had said gave any clues to location or distance yet to be traveled. But it was obvious the information being passed between the two was solving questions in their own minds of how to locate the entrance to the Lost Dutchman.

"Like I told Li, I've had a lot of time to think about the stories the old man told while we sat around talkin' before turnin' in at night. Sometimes I'd fall asleep when he was in the middle of some big tale, but over the years he bunked with us, I probably heard all of 'em a half-dozen times anyway."

Trying to limber abused muscles, Jess was working his right arm up and down.

"Jess, I don't think Ari dug the mine."

"What? How'd ya figure?" Jess squinted through the acrid smoke to contemplate Slim's tied down arms and hobbled leg. His gaze swept over his friend, taking in Slim's barley gold hair, disheveled and stiff with dried sweat, his gaunt face and stubborn unsmiling lips.

"Oh, it's the things he said, or rather, the way he said them."

"Did he ever tell how he happened on the mine in the first place?"

"Yeah, he had a little saying he would recite to a sing-song tune. It was a nursery rhyme Ma used to quote but he put different words to it."

"What is the song, Mr. Sherman?" Li probed impatiently.

"Ma had us memorize it as '_Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,' _but I don't remember the changes Ari made to it."

"You better try harder, Sherman," Doolin put in, "Your health might get real uncertain no matter what kind a hogwash you come up with. I think you're stallin', hopin' Harper here will find a way to bust the two of ya loose."

Slim turned on Doolin, his face tight with annoyance, "The old man chanted most of it in German. _None_ of us understood what he was sayin'."

"Why did your father never go in search of the mine, Mr. Sherman? It seems he had good clues to where it should be," asked Li.

"Pa offered to take Ari to find his claim, but the old man didn't trust anybody, including my father. He led Pa in circles a couple times and then Pa wouldn't waste any more time gettin' supplies together for what he called _'a dang fool stroll in the woods' _when he had plenty of work at home."

Jess quietly asked, "Slim, was there anything on your map you weren't able to make out?"

"Yeah," Slim answered, "There's a trail looks like a big pine tree, with Cheyenne symbols down one side. I haven't figured out what they mean, but I thought when we get there it'll make sense. Why?"

"Mine, too. But I thought it looked like a river with tributaries, creeks comin' off each side."

Jess sketched his ideas in the air, "The picture writing looked like water and mountains. How 'bout yours?"

"The same plus an angled line I've never seen before."

"An angled line? Can you draw it?" Jess asked with an insolent grin.

Slim's head came up and he demanded incredulously, "How the hell can I draw anything with my arms tied down?"

Quickly, Slim realized his partner was baiting him.

"You've got one leg free!" Jess told him impishly.

"So I do!" Slim pursed his lips. He stood and smoothed the dirt with his sock clad foot. Balancing on the Oregon boot, Slim used his toes to draw a line in the dust. "There! Like a lance. . .er. . . you know. . .a. . .a single arrow shaft."

"Oh!" Jess responded, nodding wisely, "Now I understand!"

Li Zong and Wen Zhongcheng exchanged disbelieving glances. Neither man had any frame of reference for the two cowboys, especially Harper.

They each felt a moment of apprehension that the two young men could make jokes in their present circumstances.

A cold finger of doubt trailed down Wen's back and he had a sudden inkling of disaster stalking their journey.

Li knew he needed to regain control of the meeting. He cut in sharply, "Anything further you need to ask, Mr. 'Arper? Take advantage of this opportunity while I allow it."

Jess shook his head, the banter set aside.

"Mr. Sherman, do you have anything to add?"

"There is another story, and I only heard it a few times. It probably has a lot of bearing on bein' able to locate the mine. Ari never would tell it in Ma's hearin'. He first told Pa and Jonesy late one night after they had all gotten soused on Ari's homemade tonsil varnish. They thought I was asleep or he wouldn't a mentioned it then."

Slim hitched a hip further onto the crate.

"Mind you, Jess, Ari's accent was thick enough to cut with a knife. It was hard for me to understand him at the best of times, and when he was drunk, slurring his words, it was even harder. But. . .as I recollect he was snickering about the gold hidin' behind a dung heap. He said _'de gutt boek'_ talked about _'pearls before swine'_ but he had found _'das gold under dung'_ and somethin' about the gosh-awful stench."

The more Sherman talked, the more unbelievable his tale became. Bill Doolin was not the only one to wonder if Slim's story was an elaborate lie to somehow gain freedom for himself and Harper.

'_I never knew Slim to spin big yarns, but if everything he's tellin' is the gospel truth, we've got a ring-tailed twister on our hands,' _Sam Peck thought.

The marshal lay hidden in the brush not ten feet from Li's Conestoga. The drifting smoke helped shield his hiding place. Besides, the other group was more concerned with hearing Slim's every word than paying attention to the neighboring undergrowth.

'_So that's Li. Conceited little toad, ain't he.' _Peck mused, _'Damn, they've got Slim wrapped up tighter'n the bark on a tree. Wonder how Harper plans to get him outta the Oregon boot? And I don't think Harper means to leave here without 'im.'_

Everyone ducked involuntarily as a colony of bats came riding the wind, startling a curse from Doolin with the rustle of their wings and their raucous, nearly inaudible cries as they swooped and tumbled among the hordes of insects, devouring thousands of the annoying winged dervishes.

"Bats?" Doolin asked with a shudder.

"Bats." Slim stated emphatically.

"Bats!" Jess crowed jubilantly. _'I think I know what kinda shit was hidin' the old man's gold!'_

As a bonus, the bats were making definite inroads into the multitudes of gnats, thinning the population to an annoyance rather than a threat.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 43 Deadfall**

Jess was standing near the fire drinking coffee while they waited for the wagons to be ready to roll. Wen's workers and Count Duvalier's gunmen had been busy clearing a path since first light. There had been no sign of Li Zong or Slim at breakfast, but Jess had seen Zhen take a covered tray to Li's quarters.

"Bill, I wanna thank you for them shackles 'round my legs last evenin'," he brashly announced.

"What changed your tune?" Doolin asked suspiciously, "As I recall, you was mad as hell last night."

"True. But then I got to thinkin' you saved me from myself. And I got a good night's sleep in the bargain."

"Guess you'd best explain," Bill said, glancing around nervously. Doolin knew what Jess was capable of undertaking.

"If I'd been free, I'd a been bound and determined to go explorin' around camp, maybe look in on Li or that Marshall fella. No tellin' what kinda mischief I would've got myself into. You wouldn't've got any rest nor me either. The way it fell out, we both got some shut eye."

"I figured you'd rabbit on me if I left you alone." Bill grumbled sullenly. "Harper, you do come up with the damnedest foolishness."

Giving Doolin an even bigger, less sincere smile, Jess shrugged carelessly as he hopped into the stirrup. Resentfully, Doolin scowled while Harper adjusted his Stetson and gathered up the reins with his free right hand.

"Dammit, Harper! Flauntin' yer new-found freedom like you're king of the hill. It can all change back in a heartbeat and you won't even know what hit you."

For some reason, Jess was expecting to see the cliff-side broken off on the right side of the trail they were clearing. He glanced back for the fiftieth time. Slim, braced on the seat of the lead wagon with an armed guard on either side, was staring at the opposite side of the trail, his eyes narrowed against the strong overhead sun.

As Jess swung further around, Slim nodded toward the bluff on their left and Jess could see the sheared off rocks at the top of the cliff.

He thought back to the time he guided Barnaby Cade, Rickert, Dallas and the rest of the Choctaw Johnson gang to the stream where they had hidden their stolen loot. Jess recalled Rickert's words as they searched for the secret trail, each section known to only one man, _"It can't have changed this much in only two years!"_

'_Rickert was only in jail for two years. This mine has been hidden for almost twenty. Think how many changes there could be durin' that span. I know vines and scrub saplin's will be takin' hold. There could even be some good size trees; more rock falls after Ari loosened the overhang with his blast. . . .'_

Relaxing in the saddle, Jess didn't glance to the side as they rode past. He was busy considering what was going to happen when they let everybody know their search was over.

'_If we're wrong, won't be much difference in what we're facin' now. One way or another, all this tomfoolery will soon come to a head.'_

An uproar of shouting voices and hoarse frightened cries had Doolin and Jess both kicking their horses to see what was going on at the leading edge of the track being carved out of the forest. They arrived to find Lieutenant Roqueville flat on his belly clutching a struggling Chinese worker. Only by flinging his arms out to the sides had the Oriental managed to keep from being completely swallowed by the now gaping fissure.

Staying well back from the crumbling edge, Jess snaked a lariat to Roqueville who dropped it over the terrified man's shoulders, securing it under his arms.

"Lieutenant, hold on to the line. We'll pull you both out," Jess called.

Jess dallied the trailing end of the rope around his pommel and backed his pony until Bill could safely lift the two men to their feet on solid ground.

Deciding this was as good a time as any for their big announcement_, _while he coiled his lariat, Jess made it appear he had noticed something odd in the lay of the land behind them.

On foot, he started back the way they had just traveled. Jess traded a pointed glance with Slim and they both grinned when Jess paused to adjust his Stetson before striding determinedly past the first prairie schooner. He began to pick up the pace as he got further away; Bill Doolin shouting at him to stop. The deadly whine of a bullet sang past Jess's ear and kicked up leaves in front of him.

Sliding to a stop, Jess turned excitedly to Doolin, "It's back there. The Lost Dutchman. Slim found it! Come on."

When he turned around to take off again, Jess found the Duvaliers's coachman leveling a revolver at him; the bore of the muzzle looked as big as a post hole.

"Hold up there, cowboy." Mort Cory commanded menacingly.

"Thanks, mister!" Bill gasped. He was wheezing as he caught up, the thin air taking a toll on his breathing.

"Don't mention it, friend," Cory replied cheerfully, tipping his hat to Doolin.

"I owe you one, _friend_," Jess promised. He glared convincingly at Mort as Bill escorted him back to where they had left their horses. _'Looks like the cavalry has arrived after all.'_

"Harper, Mr. Li will have both our hides if he ain't in on openin' up the Lost Dutchman after all the trouble he's gone to ta get here." Doolin told him fiercely.

Sam Peck whispered to Rick and Alain, "Watch yourselves, I think this is it. I'm gonna get Angelique and the Count out of the buggy so nobody busts in on Raines and Windy Doolittle."

The marshal skirted Harper and Doolin on the off side of the wagons and hot-footed it back to the closed coach, hurriedly pulling the young woman and her father onto the rock-strewn path.

"Thad, get ready to move. Harper just announced he and Sherman have found the mine." A double rap against the door let Sam know he'd been heard.

Looking up at the Laramie sheriff seated in the driver's box, Peck said softly, "Looks like the party's startin', Mort. Keep yourself healthy, my friend. Remember, we _want_ to be captured."

Sheriff Cory laughed mirthlessly, "You and me might have a meetin' out behind the woodshed when we get back to Laramie, Sam. Lead poisonin' will upset your innards same as mine, so watch yourself." Peck nodded as he rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. The tension always settled there!

Picking up a handful of leaves and twigs, Marshal Peck flung them to the top of the carriage. "Bunk, get inside the mine as quick as you can without gettin' caught. We're all dependin' on you, boy."

"Yessir." was the quiet but enthusiastic reply.

Sam turned on his heel and quickly rejoined his men.

Li was nearly incoherent with rage when he discovered Count Duvalier's carriage was nearer than his Conestoga to the hidden entrance Harper said concealed _his_ treasure.

The clamor from the locusts ran a poor second to Li's shrill, vicious demands to get his wagon turned around.

Still holding the shovels and picks they were using moments before, Lieutenant Roqueville and his men were surrounded and disarmed. They were forced into a small rope corral and swiftly had their hands and feet tied.

It took over two hours to sort the wagons and return to the bluff Slim had spotted.

"I see no mine." Li Zong complained, "What brought you _here_, Mr. 'Arper?"

"My horse." Jess replied sarcastically. "I told ya it would be hidden. Why do you think I was askin' Slim all them questions last night? He's the one spied it, not me. You shoulda had him leading this expedition all along."

Few people would have noticed anything out of the ordinary about the cliffside. Wild grapevines dangled from the larger trees, saplings and tall tangled brush filled the space from the rock face to the hacked out path. Experienced trackers and woodsmen, Jess and Slim understood all the plants were young. There were no huge trees in the area facing them. The dense brush was there only because it got more sunlight than under the surrounding old growth forest.

"I see very little difference, Mr. 'Arper. Are you sure you and Mr. Sherman are not leading us on for your own purposes?"

"Sounds like you're askin' if we know what we're doin', Li. I would a bet this was a wild goose chase from the very beginning, but I'm pretty sure this is the right heap a rocks."

Backing up until Slim could hear him, Jess asked, "Slim, what do you say?"

"I say this is it!" Slim looked over the outcropping from top to bottom. "See, Mr. Li, I told you the mine couldn't be found without us. You would've driven right past and kept on goin' till all the wagons broke down or fell in a sinkhole."

"Nothing has been proven as yet, Mr. Sherman, and my patience is at an end."

Li gave an order in Chinese; Slim's guards roughly pulled him from the wagon. Without his arms for balance, Slim tumbled to the ground, grunting as he fell heavily on his left shoulder. It took Doolin and two guards to restrain Jess.

"Stand down, Harper."

"I ain't gonna let Slim get knocked around, Doolin. You tell 'em to back off!"

Tempers and tension were running high. Wen Zhongcheng intervened, barking orders to find Sherman something to sit on and having the guards retreat to the edge of the cleared area.

Bill Doolin heartily wished his employer had not seen fit to agree with that damned Sherman's demands. Harper was a handful at any time, but without restraints, he was able to fling himself away from Bill's watchful eyes—and gun—way too easily. Bill was having an increasingly difficult time getting enough air and having to keep up with Harper wasn't making his breathing any easier.

Doolin hadn't thought he was having an easy time guarding Jess Harper before, but now he could compare, he realized he'd been lulled into a false sense of security while Harper's hand was chained behind his back.

Struggling to keep up, Bill followed doggedly as Jess jogged from the cliff back to where Slim sat waiting, "Pard, you hit the nail on the barrel head. There's a big old limb wedged at an angle about six feet off the ground. It's in that pile of boulders twelve or fifteen feet over that way."

Jess flashed a crooked grin, "Now, see, if you hadn't told me about that Cheyenne picture word, the arrow thing, I never would've recognized it."

Slim shook his head at Jess's nonsense, but it did bring a smile to his face.

"Okay, Boss. What do we need to do first?"

"I think first thing, the vines and brush need to be pulled away from the rocks. But Jess, whoever is working over there has to be real careful. Ari was a tough old bird and he was sly as a fox, too. I bet you he's laid traps all over the place. Traps to maim or kill anybody he thought was out to jump his claim."

"Alright. Li will just have to keep his britches on, he's waited this long, won't hurt him to cool his heels a little longer."

"Might not hurt _him_ to wait, Jess, but Li can sure put the hurt on you or one of his Chinese workers."

Bill Doolin listened to the friends trading ideas, one almost able to finish the other's sentences. He understood what had to be done, but he also felt a bit melancholy he had no brother-or friend-to back _him_.

Doolin interrupted, "I'll be the one decidin' when and how we're gonna clear the brush. You two might think you're runnin' things now, but let me tell you, don't get a bighead, or you'll find yerself gettin' it blowed off."

Wen and Doolin formed their men into a line an arm's width apart and had them scour the ground in front of them before stepping forward. It was slow going but Slim's warning proved prophetic when they uncovered a row of sharpened sticks set to cripple if they were stepped on.

There were over a dozen ragged mats of woven grass ready to collapse and drop an unsuspecting victim into a hole deep enough to completely swallow a man, leaving no trace.

When they had cleared the ground almost to the rock face, Bill began to relax, thinking the worst was behind them. Right before he heard a growling rumble from the top of the cliff. The ground shook as gravel and pebbles cascaded over the lip of the bluff, followed by rocks and enormous boulders. They careened down the edge, taking flight to bounce and roll as they struck the cushioning bracken below. Panicked cries followed the frightened men as they dashed headlong to escape from harm's way.

Li yelped in pain when a shower of pebbles peppered him from above. Li had been sitting in his wagon, watching as the space was cleared, constantly urging Wen to make the men work faster. But he agreed to the delay when Wen Zhongcheng insisted Li's quarters and the munitions wagon be moved away from the danger zone.

Jess was working with a group of men clearing vines away from the pile of rock around the big limb when he heard a low-pitched wavering moan. Startled, he quickly looked around to see if one of the Chinese men had been injured, but he found them all darting frightened looks at him and the surrounding forest.

Night was coming on; it would be full dark within an hour. The eerie sound died away but was soon replaced by a dry rustling as thousands of bats began pouring from the upper reaches of the rocks above their heads. A pitiful whimper rose from the terrified peasants. Li was a harsh taskmaster, but nothing had prepared them for this otherworldly exhibition.

Before any of the men could break and run, Jess loudly declared what they needed was a fire to give light enough to work by. He began dragging sticks out of the underbrush, piling them high. Jess asked Doolin for a match and they soon had a roaring bonfire to push the sinister shadows back into the trees.

"Jess, come over here a minute."

"Slim, we didn't hear any groanin' until we pulled the vines off that pile of rock. I'll bet there's a hole or some kind of vent the wind blows through and when we got rid of the creepers, it opened it up to where the moanin' can be heard again."

"Same thing I was gonna tell you."

Wen agreed their explanation was a logical one and he repeated in Chinese what Harper said about the groaning being caused by the wind. The men calmed down and returned to work, but every time the keening started up, wide frightened eyes could be seen staring nervously toward the rocks or the intrusive forest.

They had worked far into the night clearing the rock face and now Li approached to inspect the log jammed overhead between two boulders. "How are you going to move the lever, Mr. 'Arper?"

Jess snorted, "Very carefully."

"I am not amused, Mr. 'Arper. It has been a most difficult day and I am ready to get to my gold." Li informed him balefully.

"I demand you free that log and open the mine. We have been waiting here long enough."

"I think we should postpone doin' anything else till daylight. Nobody has had anything to eat; they all need to rest for a while. It's only a few. . ." Jess's reply was cut off.

"Absolutely not!" Li shrilled. He stamped his foot in rage. "I refuse to wait one minute more to have access to my treasure. If you will not do it, Wen or Mr. Doolin or Gang will."

Stepping back, Jess waved his hand, "Go ahead, I'll make sure I'm outta your way. Anybody else who wants to tackle it, march right up."

Jess offered one parting volley, "The firelight's not strong enough for me to see all the details, but I can tell that bottom row has been half buried in the ground." He pointed with his outstretched arm, tracing a line along the middle of massive moss covered boulders, "No reason for old Ari to do that much diggin' without some powerful reason."

He dusted his hands together and turned to walk away, "I'm gonna see if Li Zhen has any coffee, or maybe something a little stronger. Wanna cup of coffee, Slim?"

Bill Doolin took a torch to inspect the deadfall. Now it had been pointed out, he could readily see what Harper was talking about. Li protested loudly to uphold the pretense he was still in charge, but they all knew from now until the mine was opened, Jess Harper and Slim Sherman were calling the shots.

Slim wanted no coffee, but he did drink some water; Jess held a canteen to Slim's lips till his thirst was satisfied. Jess grinned when Li Zhen topped off his coffee with whiskey.

Jess offered Slim the spirit-laced brew, he nodded and Jess held the cup for him to sip.

His mouth hidden behind the tin mug, Slim quietly advised, "Watch real careful when the limb shifts. Get as far away as you can. Ari's sure to have some secrets he never shared with anybody."

Giving a slight nod, Jess softly told Slim what was weighing on him, "If there was any way to strip you outta that straight jacket, I'd do it in a heartbeat, Pard. It's killin' me to see you tethered down like this, but I swear we'll beat Li yet."

Slim breathed out his answer, "Inside the mine. . . ."

"Unh-huh," Jess agreed, not moving his lips.

They knew they would be allowed little time together; Wen and Doolin were much too aware of how explosive Jess could be when pushed.

Slim read the stress of the whole exploit in Jess's tired face; his cheekbones stood out in high relief, his eyes dark shadows against the pallor of his fading tan. Tension held the man together, like birds strung on a wire, waiting for the slightest tremor to set them in flight.

For a brief, unguarded moment, Jess let Slim see the pain, the fatigue and fear in his eyes. But when Bill Doolin dropped a hand on his shoulder, Jess's mask slid back into place, cool and confident.

Li had Slim returned to his usual bed inside the wagon. The Orientals scurried away to eat and rest, fully aware the next day would be filled with surprises and hard labor.

Finding a couple of blankets folded under one of the two wagons left to them, Jess sank wearily to sit on one, muttering as he struggled to pull off his boots. He reached for the other blanket to cover himself up.

Bill Doolin approached, drawing his pistol as he neared. A pair of shackles hung over his shoulder, clanking with every step.

"You won't need that hawg leg, Bill. I'm too tired to argue about it tonight. Just snap 'em on my ankles and cover my feet back up."

Doolin knelt and quickly fastened the irons around Jess's shins. Jess lay back, cradling his head on his bent arms.

"Bill, do me a favor in the morning?" Jess asked.

"Depends on what it is, Harper," Doolin replied.

"Keep Slim in Li's wagon. He can't move fast enough to get outta the way if somethin' goes wrong when we move that log. Li's not gonna put himself in danger, so I figure it'll be safest for Slim, too."

"Okay, Harper. I'll discuss it with Mr. Wen. Unless Mr. Li insists on doin' somethin' different, we'll just act like it's the way it should be handled."

"Thanks, Bill. I owe ya," Jess turned on his side and closed his eyes.

Doolin stared thoughtfully at Harper for several long seconds before seeking his own bed.

Slim's guards had barely finished helping him with his morning ablutions when he started calling for Jess. Li querulously told him to keep quiet and a loud argument soon erupted within the Chinese warlord's quarters.

Wen came to see what the problem was and found Sherman standing defiantly in the aisle, yelling his friend's name through the rear opening.

"What is the issue, Mr. Li? Do I need to have Mr. Sherman gagged?" Wen asked anxiously.

"No!" Slim yelled. "I figured out during the night how to get inside the mine. You've got to stop Jess and the others before they touch that log. It's a lever, but not to open the Lost Dutchman."

In a swirl of robes, Wen Zhongcheng jumped down from the wagon and ran toward the cliff, calling for Bill Doolin as he went.

Doolin appeared at the top of the bluff, Harper beside him.

"Stop whatever you are doing!" Wen's words tumbled over themselves as he raced to avert a disaster. "Do not move the limb until you talk with Mr. Sherman."

Bill and Jess both grabbed for a wire extending over the lip of the cliff, the slack disappearing as it slowly rose from the ground.

"_Tingzhi!"_ Doolin shouted at the top of his lungs, _"Tingzhi! Tingzhi!"_

"Doolin, go make Gang quit pullin' on the wire. I'll keep the slack from shiftin', but you better hurry. Don't know how long I can hold out."

"You sure, Harper?"

"I'm sure. Gang won't listen to me. Go on. And make it fast!" Jess demanded, grunting with the effort of keeping the wire from stretching taut as it was heaved again from behind them.

Doolin ran, angling away from the cliff edge, yelling at Gang to stop.

Jess was on his knees, desperately pushing against the jerking line to stop its inexorable progress as it gradually lifted into the air. _'Hurry, Bill. Sure wish you'd learned to talk Chinese.' _ The increasing pressure slowly dragged him to his feet, but still he held on, digging in his high-heeled boots to keep the wire leading to the embedded log from tightening any further.

When the tension released, it was so sudden Jess was thrown forward, sliding to the very edge of the precipice. Rolling to his back, Jess used his teeth to pull off Slim's thick leather work gloves. He picked cautiously at the bandage on his injured hand wondering, _'What's gonna go wrong next?'_

"Why on earth did you start right in working this morning, Jess?" Slim demanded. "If you'd just come and talked to me, none of this would a happened."

"Wasn't my call, Slim. Doolin said Li didn't want either one of you disturbed." Jess hissed as Li Zhen cut away the dirty wrappings covering his burnt palm, "Then Wen insisted we have somethin' ready to surprise Li when he decided to make an appearance."

"It's a surprise all right. Li wouldn't let me out of the damned wagon and he wouldn't call you or Doolin or even Wen over so I could warn you. Spiteful little. . ." Slim's rant ended in a sputter.

Li wisely kept himself out of sight inside his Conestoga. He was itching to force Sherman to show them the entrance to the mine, but he knew Sherman would refuse to leave his friend and that would erode his authority even further.

The others gathered around Slim for Wen Zhongcheng to ask the question uppermost in everyone's mind: "Mr. Sherman, please explain yourself. Where is the Lost Dutchman entrance if it is not opened by moving the log we uncovered last night?"

Slim jerked his chin toward the rock face, "See how that bluff juts out further than the rest of the wall? I think the Lost Dutchman is hiding around that corner. Be careful when you get close to it, Ari might have laid traps there too, but take a rifle stock or a long pole and jab into those vines."

He turned to look at Wen, "Something Jess asked stuck in my mind: How did Ari intend to get back inside the mine? No way was he going to cut himself off from his gold. It has to be easy for a lone man to get inside.

"Ari wasn't young or spry enough to move most of these rocks by himself. He probably dug the holes and planted the stakes in the ground, but all he had to help lift those rocks was one little burro. If I'm right, there'll be a section that sounds hollow, or at least different from what's around it. The weeds and saplings need to be cleared away there."

To himself, Slim added, _'Gotta get inside the mine. . . . It's past time to get Jess away from these crazy people and take him home.' _

**Chapter 44 Cold As a December Morning**

"Doolin, didn't Slim tell you where to uncover the entrance to the mine?" Jess glanced around to find Slim grinning from ear to ear.

"Why are you standin' there lookin' at me like a fool? Show me where it is or let me go sit back down. I ain't in no mood. . . . What in the foggy blue mornin's the matter with you two?" Jess demanded.

"Come over here, Harper, the entrance is right in front of yore nose." Still smiling, Bill Doolin took Jess's elbow and encouraged him to walk closer to the wall of vines, "Run yore hand through these vines and you'll know where the door is. Just watch out for that trip wire. I wouldn't go pushing on that too hard."

"How the hell can I run my hand through the blasted vines? Have you taken a good look at my hands lately?" Jess asked waspishly. His left hand was mittened in thick dressings from his wrist to the ends of his fingers; his wrist wrapped in cotton strips tied off around his thumb to keep the bandage in place. Tentatively Jess reached out with his right hand to brush aside the hanging grapevine.

There were no soft, fuzzy, pliable leaves. No woody stem. No curliques to twist around his fingers. Instead his fingertips rammed into a hard, unyielding surface and he let out a yelp when pain shuddered up his entire arm.

"What the. . .?" Careful not to touch the wire stretched tight at about knee height, Jess smoothed his hands over the wooden surface. It looked like vines and trees with rocks and weeds near the ground, but it was all painted on. Thin layers of rock had been wired in place and helped to give the whole thing a sense of depth and distance.

Shaking his head in wonder, a huge grin lit up Jess's face and he turned to Slim, "How'd you know, Pard? What tipped you off?"

"I kept thinking about Ari not cutting himself off from his gold. Plus every time he told us about setting off the blast, he said he _'dynamited the cliff off to the side of the mine.' _He never said anything to Pa about trees and vines painted anywhere around his mine. But you recall the wall in Mary Bates dining room that looks like you're gonna walk right out into a garden? Ari drew it.

"I finally put some clues together in the middle of the night, but Li wouldn't let me talk to you this morning."

"Mr. Li says discussion is finished." Wen announced.

"Mr. Doolin has located three ambushes, Mr. 'Arper. It is time to set them off and see what surprises are in store so Mr. Li can get to his gold."

Two of the wires had rusted through, but the third was intact. Bill Doolin showed Harper where one of the broken wires had been attached to saplings fortified with deadly knives; tufts of tattered fur attested to the violent end of some hapless deer. Bark and wood had grown around the other cable holding it's deadly missile suspended in mid-air.

"Have you been able to follow this one to the end?" Jess asked.

"No, it disappears under the leaves, but the tension is still tight." Doolin replied.

Looking around, taking in the separate groups crowded in the vicinity, Jess suggested, "Why don't we clear out all these people and use one a them long poles to trigger it?"

Three guards surrounded Slim and hoisted him, complaining bitterly, into Li Zong's prairie schooner. All the Orientals except the sentries huddled together near the fire. Held under guard beside Li's quarters, Angelique and Count Duvalier, Mort Cory, Theo Jenkins and Jacques waited apprehensively.

The noise accompanying the explosion of leaves when Doolin pushed against one end of the wire and Jess the other brought a startled cry from several of the women, including Angelique. Iron spikes sang from the impact of being flung upright across a twelve-foot span. Everyone, men and women alike, crouched involuntarily and gazed upward to watch debris settling slowly to the ground.

Li was all for breaking the door in with battering rams and axes, while Wen tried to convince him it was better to delay and ensure no other surprises waited for the unwary.

Quiet and deadly as a snake, Jess Harper's voice cut across their bickering, "Just because we disarmed three deadfalls ain't no guarantee that's all there is. Outside or inside the mine."

Wen blinked owlishly at him, amazed at Harper's boldness in interrupting Mr. Li.

"Spendin' time now to make sure we've found all the traps will keep everyone safe once we get inside. If there's somethin' left behind us and ever'body figures we've cleared out all the danger, it'll be twice as deadly and could blow up somebody carryin' ore out of the diggin's. Is that what you're after, Li?"

Li Zong silently made himself promises to deal Harper a long, lingering, pain-filled death as soon as he was no longer necessary. He seethed at Harper's insolence; the smirk which played at the corner of Jess's mouth an annoying burr to Li's authority. Harper always had a rebuttal; a better solution to any of Li's decisions.

"You lose the gold and a strong back to carry it. If that crazy old coot rigged another trip wire, you should be first in line when we go inside." Jess went on, unconcerned with the anger he saw building in Li's face.

While the wall of spikes was dismantled, Jess and Bill Doolin searched for evidence of more snares. Wen Zhongcheng discovered two long bolts which secured the panel from either end; a cleverly recessed handle would allow it to be pushed open.

Screeching in complaint, long-idle wheels reluctantly trundled the door aside. An overpowering reek of fetid, dung fragranced air billowed out of the yawning hole. Gagging noises echoed across the clearing and eyes began to water from the thick, unbearable essence of bat guano.

Even as he turned his face into his shoulder to escape the smell, Slim laughed out loud, "He said '_de gutt boek'_ talked about _'pearls before swine'_ but old Arizona Albertson found _'das gold under dung'_. And he got that part about the gosh-awful stench exactly right."

It was Mr. Wen and Doolin who came up with the idea of having the French lieutenant and Duvalier's two rough-neck gunmen reconnoiter the mine entrance. They tied the men wrist to wrist and gave the ones on each end a torch.

There was a brief and lively dissent but when the alternative was execution, little more remained to be said.

Only a few dozen yards inside the mine, Delgado felt the floor sink slightly as he took his next step. He froze in place. "Stop. Don't anybody move."

Jess and Doolin were following close behind. Bill dipped his lantern to illuminate the rock under the gunman's feet. Harper pointed out the cracks which outlined an uneven hexagon with the prisoner's foot planted almost exactly in the center.

Inching his light across the width of the tunnel, Doolin found another hexagonal depression about two feet away; neither the lieutenant nor Marshall had stepped on it.

"Bill, do you have a knife?" Jess asked softly.

"Yeah," Doolin replied.

"Can you reach the ropes on that one's wrist? Without moving your feet?"

"Yeah."

"Hand me your lantern?"

"Yeah."

Scarcely daring to breathe, Bill Doolin handed his light to Harper. He reached into his boot and pulled out a long-bladed Bowie knife. As close as he and Harper were, if a trap was sprung, the two of them would be injured or killed along with the sacrificial prisoners.

"What's your name, cowboy?" Jess asked.

"Rick Delgado."

"Well, Delgado, when Doolin here saws through that rope, you just keep standin' there like a statue, okay?"

"Okay," Rick replied shakily. He cleared his throat but didn't move a muscle.

"Bill, can you reach the next rope without movin' your feet?"

"No."

"Then I'm gonna hand you back the lantern and you pass me the knife."

The lantern's light swung crazily, creating eerie shadows as Doolin and Harper made the exchange.

"Lieutenant, Marshall, slowly swing your arms behind you. But make sure you don't shift your feet when you move. Got that?"

"Yes."

"Oui."

"_We_ ain't gonna cut through this rope, _I_ am. And nobody has to laugh at my joke."

Grabbing the rope which bound the two men together, Jess tucked the end of the knife underneath the hemp and carefully began to cut through the strands.

He heard a sharp indrawn breath from Marshall, "Sorry, I got too anxious. . . but you won't bleed to death from this little scratch. And it ain't nowhere near the _peck_ a trouble we'll be in if Delgado's foot slips."

Sam made a fist and then relaxed his hand. _'Harper does know who I am.'_

"Bill, put this pig sticker back where you found it and let's see if we can get ourselves outta this mess all in one piece."

Doolin grunted his assent.

"You got any bright ideas, Doolin? An' do you want to lead or follow?"

"Go ahead, Harper. I'll be quick to let you know if you do somethin' ain't to my likin'," Doolin said.

"Then I think ever'one behind us should back up real slow and careful-like to the entrance and scatter when they get outside. Watch ever' step. You alright with that?"

"Yep." Bill nodded, "If that trap we set off outside is any sign, this is gonna be deadly. We're gonna have ta move fast once we start and not slow down for anything."

"We better talk it out before we make our first move," Jess told them, "And don't nobody be shy about speakin' up."

Bill called out to Mr. Wen to look for cracks in the floor before they made a move. Slowly, Wen, Mr. Li, Zhen, Angelique and Count Duvalier, Gang and the other Chinese guards backed out of the entrance and scrambled away from the opening.

Sam Peck lifted his torch high to inspect the ceiling and wall as far as the flickering light allowed.

"Whatever happens has to come from the sides or the roof," Sam said, "Rick, don't move, but can you see any grooves in the wall on your side?"

"No. But the sweat tricklin' down in my eyes might have somethin' to do with that," Delgado replied.

"Well, wait a minute and look again."

"Do you see anything, marshal?" asked Jess.

"There's four lines cut into the wall on my side. They're too straight to be a natural part of the rock."

"Sam, there's two grooves on my side," Delgado put in.

"See anything overhead?" was Jess's next question.

"Yeah, a length of chain but it's too dark to see what it's fastened to."

Four pairs of eyes instantly swiveled toward the ceiling, while their owners strained to see a chain and what was attached to it.

If they could fling themselves backwards, they might, just might, be able to escape the deadly snare which had been lying in wait for decades.

"Could we wedge the torches in the grooves, catch whatever is hiding inside to keep it from windin' up in the tunnel?" Jess asked, thinking out loud.

"Might get a pile of matchsticks," was Sam Peck's observation.

"Might not," Jess retorted.

Sam came back with, "If the left one don't get ya, the right one will."

"We'll have to try it. Got no other tools." Jess decided.

Quietly, Lieutenant Roqueville suggested, "The danger above may be behind us, waiting to stab us in the back."

Doolin lifted his lantern high overhead and they could all see a deadly double-bladed axe hanging from the ceiling behind them. Dryly, Bill commented, "Get ya comin' and goin'. That old man had an evil mind."

"That he did, friend, that he did. Couldn't have said it better myself." Sam agreed.

"All our lives are on the line here," Jess told them tersely, "We gotta work together to move as quick as we can. Understand?"

A chorus of _"Yes"_ and _"Yeah"_ echoed his words.

"Alright. Bill, set your lantern on the ground and grab hold a Delgado so you can jerk him backwards."

Doolin's breath was rasping deep within his chest and his heart was pounding far faster than he would have expected. He had been in tighter situations than this, but Harper's list of ills from altitude sickness kept crossing his mind. He wiped his face with his shirtsleeve before catching up a handful of the back of Rick's shirt. His left hand wrapped around the shorter man's bicep. Bill looked over his shoulder at Harper and nodded.

"Now, Lieutenant, when Sam moves his feet to wedge his torch in the wall, you duck down and I'm gonna grab around your middle. Delgado, you shove your torch in them grooves on your side the same time as Marshall."

"Alright. . .ya gonna count or say 'go' or somethin'?" Rick asked nervously.

"Or somethin'." Marshall laughed.

"We'll count." Doolin answered angrily, "Quit messin' with 'im, Marshall."

"Sam, hightail it to the door to get outta our way. Any questions?" asked Jess.

"Yeah, what's the grand prize for me workin' up a sweat?"

"If you're lucky, we'll all still be breathin' when the dust settles." Doolin growled.

"Bill, give the word. On three." Jess grabbed Roqueville's belt and braced himself to fall backwards, allowing the lieutenant to land on top of him.

Jess and Alain rolled to the left, Doolin and Delgado to the right. They felt the rush of wind when the broad-axe whizzed over their heads, but it missed all of them. On its return, Jess felt the jarring impact as the blade smacked against his leg just above the ankle. There was no pain yet, but he'd be willing to bet that was only temporary.

The iron spikes hidden in pockets on either side of the corridor grated slowly along the floor, trying to mesh together. Their torches were slowly being ground into splinters by the spring-loaded gates.

As the axe continued to twist and swing wildly, Sam Peck lunged to stop its downward arc before it could do more damage.

"Thought I told you to get the hell outta here." Jess snarled, grabbing hold of his calf. Bright halos of pain were announcing themselves, centered in his right ankle.

"Never was much good at takin' orders," Sam drawled, "Somethin' about mindin' my manners just purely brings out the devil in me." With a jaunty salute, the marshal slipped between the iron bars and ran down the tunnel away from the entrance, and the light, while Rick and Bill were still trying to untangle themselves.

Doolin was hopping mad thinking Sam Marshall had made his escape, but he was consoled by the thought the gunman had no light, no gun and no help so he wouldn't get far.

Bill pulled his iron and motioned for Delgado and Roqueville to lift Jess. They supported him between them and slowly made their way towards the faint glow coming from the entrance. When strong daylight had brightened the tunnel, Doolin had them stop and line up against the wall. Jess's arms were wrapped around the other men's shoulders but Bill lightly slapped Harper's cheek and called his name until Jess responded.

"Do you hear me, Jess?"

Leaning his head back to touch the cold stones, Jess finally focused on Doolin's face. "Yeah, I hear you. Whatta ya want now?"

"Harper, you've got to walk outta here under your own steam. If Mr. Li thinks you're hurt bad, he may give orders to 'put you out of your misery'. I've seen him do it."

Both the other men loudly objected, but Doolin ignored them.

"You've gotten Li here and no matter how many lives he sacrifices, he can locate the gold now, with or without you. You've gotta think about Sherman, too. Same goes for him."

It was hard to concentrate around the throbbing of his ankle. The first thought to slide through Jess's mind was,_'To Li, one man. . . or a whole roomful. . . don't much matter in the grand scheme of things.'_

"I'll get you to Li Zhen, and tell all of 'em we've gotta rest, but we can't be seen carryin' you when Mr. Li first lays eyes on you."

"Why are you doin' this, Bill? Why now?" Jess asked softly.

"I figure you saved my life back there. All of us. I'm payin' a debt, and we'll be even again."

The old fire flared in Harper's eyes. And then glazed over cold as a December morning. He pushed himself erect and shook off Roqueville's solicitous hand. He carefully tested his weight on his injured ankle; Jess could feel blood oozing hot and sticky inside his boot, but the pain was not unbearable.

Jess Harper limped unaided to the entrance. With a glance at the men behind him, he squared his shoulders and walked steadily out of the gaping hole into the sunshine beyond.

**Chapter 45 Resurrection Bluff**

Marion Doolittle thought they would never leave. He had endured more than his share of fools and his patience was at an end. _'I'm the one who located the old man hoarding the Durango spur; the one who deciphered his notes and I'm the one who memorized those notes before I destroyed them all.' _

Stretching, he tried to loosen the handcuffs Marshal Raines had just checked._ 'I fooled Li and I realized right off Sherman and Harper could lead me to the Lost Dutchman Mine, that "_Eldorado_" described in the old man's notes'_.

The Senator recited to himself:

_Gaily bedight,  
__A gallant knight,  
__In sunshine and in shadow,  
__Had journeyed long,  
__Singing a song,  
__In search of Eldorado.__  
_

'_Damn Li and his hired assassins. Damn Li and his torture. And damn me for giving in to the pain._ _But, I've been searching for so long,__with no one to succor me, to offer me a bit of comfort,' _Doolittle reflected sadly, filled with self-pity.

'_I can out think all those lawmen put together. It's why that damned Peck brought me along. He knew I could talk my way around any of those lamebrain deputies left in Cheyenne. And I would, too.'_

Doolittle's spirits rose as he realized his ultimate goal was nearly in sight, _'This is no time to dawdle, to flag in my heart's desire. All Li has going for him is wealth to hire minions to do his bidding. My Eldorado will put his riches to shame.'_

The next verse echoed through Doolittle's mind:

_But he grew old—  
__This knight so bold—  
__And o'er his heart a shadow—  
__Fell as he found  
__No spot of ground  
__That looked like Eldorado.__  
_

'_Before I grow much older,' _he thought,_ 'Before I grow much older at all.'_

Poe's poem fit the Senator's dramatic image of himself, _'I've fought the good fight, just as a wandering knight seeks his destiny. I must continue in my quest and take actions bold and brave.'_

Doolittle knew he was destined to shortly enjoy life to the fullest with all the accompanying vices and conquests which were his due. All made more secure with heaps of gold to influence the most determinedly honest man.

'_We're at the very edge of Eldorado's ground.' _

When Thad Raines sneaked out of the Duvalier coach, finally leaving him alone, the Senator waited until he heard no one moving nearby. He twisted himself around until he could reach the underside of his proper starched collar with his manacled hands. Extracting the tiny tool secreted in the seam, in a matter of minutes he had managed to free himself from the hated cuffs.

Fleeing the confines of the Duvalier coach, Doolittle took the same route as the Cheyenne marshal, pausing only long enough to steal a lantern.

"You lost only one of the three prisoners? Excellent. We will put them to work as soon as you and Mr. 'Arper declare it safe to re-enter the mine." Wen Zhongcheng rubbed his hands together in satisfaction.

William Doolin's face remained impassive, but his thoughts cast back to his conversation with Harper. It had finally been inescapably driven home to him: None of them meant anything to their obsessed Oriental master. Men and women were simply tools to be used until they broke and could be cast aside in favor of new, stronger, better ones. Loyalty, dignity, devotion, love were no barriers to Li's ambition and lust. He would step over. . . or on. . . them in his single-minded quest for power and wealth.

"I'll get the prisoners settled and a work crew started cleanin' up in the mine. We should be able to start our search shortly," Bill told Mr. Wen. _'Let Li and Wen believe whatever they want about Marshall. I hope he does get away.' _

"I will inform Mr. Li. He is more than anxious to get to his treasure." Wen replied. When Doolin turned his back, Wen Zhongcheng wiped again at the fluid trickling from his nostrils. When he glanced down, there was a smear of bright red blood staining the cloth.

Doolin herded his prisoners out of sight and sound of Li's wagon, beckoning to Li Zhen as they walked past her. Swiftly she turned to the women standing nearby and scattered them to fetch her medical supplies and hot water.

A simple nod brought Rick and Alain to either side of Harper and they lifted him off his feet. No objection came from Jess as he allowed them to carry him to the pile of blankets Zhen had hastily spread under a tree.

Jess clutched at Zhen's arm, "Don't take my boot off. I'll never get it back on. Gotta protect Slim. Put some of your magic ointment on it so I can get back on my feet. That'll be all I need. . . nnggghh." He arched his back as she probed with gentle hands.

Li Zhen slid a piece of rolled cloth between Jess's teeth and pushed damp curls off his forehead. "I decide now what must be done, but you will be able to protect tall fliend when I am finished. Do you trust me_, wo de erzi_?"

Jess nodded. Through half-open lids, he watched bits of impossibly blue sky. The ache in his leg seemed somehow connected to the shards of sunlight lancing through the dappled shade, spiking higher when the agile flickers shifted with the breeze.

"Close eyes. Rest. Pain will go away." Zhen's hand ghosted across Jess's brow and rested lightly on his cheek until she felt him relax.

Doolin and Wen sent a crew of Chinese men to search the floor and walls for any sign of more pitfalls. They placed torches in each carved niche along the mine shaft and left a supply of extra torches about every fifty feet. Extras were stockpiled at the entrance to each of the tunnels radiating from the central room.

Doolin had one side of the iron grating pushed aside, but the other stayed in place, a sobering reminder of the deadly trap. Both Doolin and Wen took great pains to remind everyone to walk on the left side of the shaft.

A few dozen yards inside the mine, the corridor opened up into an enormous room with four separate tunnels fanning out in different directions. Wen ordered lanterns hung and Li's chair set up at one side of the space. He had tools and totes stacked close at hand to dig and transport ore as quickly as possible.

When all was ready, Mr. Wen instructed Bill Doolin to bring Mr. 'Arper inside the mine. He went to get Mr. Li and had guards set Mr. Sherman on the ground. Li sent for Angelique and her father to share in his moment of triumph.

Bill stopped in amazement to see Jess sitting up.

"Shut your mouth, Bill. You're not tryin' to catch flies." Jess told him, grinning.

"Li Zhen is a magician. All Li would have to do is set her up with a medicine show and he could rake in more gold than the Lost Dutchman can produce."

"What about your ankle?" Bill asked gruffly.

Jess's ankle was swaddled in bandages, a small circle of rusty brown staining the top layer.

"How bad is it?"

Zhen coolly replied, "Skin scraped, bruised but ankle not broken. Pain gone few hours."

Carefully working the tough leather boot over the bulky wrappings, Li Zhen ran her hands lightly over Jess's leg.

"Do not wait until blinded by pain."

"No ma'am," Jess replied fervently.

All parties converged on the Lost Dutchman at the same time. Li grandly led the way inside.

The mine pulsed like a live thing. Near constant creaks and groans, pops and cracks, rustlings and murmurings floated just at the edge of hearing. Dampness seeped up from the floor; malevolent mutterings lurked in the shadows. There was a sibilant hiss of water whispering behind the walls. More than one person would have sworn to glimpsing, from the corner of an eye, shadows hurrying to confront the intruders.

Labeling the rustlings in the mine the imaginings of frightened children, Li headed straight for his "throne" and prepared to hold court.

"Which tunnel, Mr. Sherman?"

"Give Jess and me a chance to get our bearings and compare it to the maps we memorized. But I will warn everybody not to touch _anything_ you don't recognize. There's bound to be more snares in here."

"Slim, I think my 'river' and your 'pine tree' are these tunnels runnin' out from this room."

"Yeah, you're right. And your 'river' may be what's makin' that gurglin' noise behind the walls."

"I hope it stays behind the walls." Jess exclaimed.

"I say we check each one, see if there's any way to identify the main corridor; then the others in order."

"Yeah, Ari should have left some sign so he wouldn't get lost in this maze."

Li declared, "Mr. Wen and Mr. Doolin will accompany you, Mr. 'Arper, to make sure _you_ do not get lost."

"Shouldn't take no more'n thirty or forty feet to see if there's some mark to show the way."

"Go, then. My patience is at an end!" Li thundered.

Giving Li a glare that should have felled him in his tracks, Jess picked up a torch and lit it from one already sputtering beside the first opening. He glanced back at Slim and hobbled down the tunnel, followed by Wen and Doolin.

Several yards down the third passageway a crude "X" showed up on the wall. Wen ran back to inform Mr. Li while Jess and Bill followed more slowly.

A babble of excited voices reached down the tunnel before the two men walked into the large vaulted room.

"Mr. 'Arper, my gold awaits." Li smugly informed Jess.

Stubbornly shaking his head, Jess answered, "We haven't checked the last tunnel yet, Li."

Astounded, Li turned on Jess. Harper was challenging his authority again?

"It won't take but five minutes to walk down that last passage, Mr. Li. May get you to your treasure all the faster if it's the right one." Bill Doolin tried to smooth things over before Li could issue an order they would all regret.

Jess led out, his smoking torch held high. Rough arrows scrawled in chalk pointed the way down the fourth passageway.

The floor sloped sharply upward, the towering vaulted roof now within reach of Doolin's raised arm. The ceiling was shiny, glittering wetly in the light from torches and lanterns. His outstretched hand brushed the roof and came away damp. With the surface tension broken, a small trickle of water formed a stream, the insistent drip a counterpoint to the clanking of their tools, the hiss of their torches and the metallic scraping of the Oregon boot as Slim struggled to keep up. The oppressive atmosphere did not lend itself to conversation and chatter had long since died away in the confines of the smelly, dank, unventilated passage.

Crowded by Doolin and Li, Jess glanced around and then slipped through a narrow crevice. He stuck his torch into a wall niche as the others gave a collective gasp. They were in a pocket roughly twenty by thirty feet, hewn out of the living mountain, whose walls and roof were almost solid gold.

Tiny gossamer threads of gold veining sparkled like snail trails, weaving a tapestry of incredible wealth.

Spider webs of gold waited to trap the unwary.

Gold veins as thick as a man's arm begged to be carved away.

A golden sheet, broad as two pick handles, glittered in the flame tossed light, promising to fulfill the most ambitious dreams.

The color began at waist height and surged upwards to cross the ceiling and flow down the opposite wall to the floor. They were standing in a street of gold.

The whole space shimmered with the guarantee of unimaginable wealth.

Stepping further into the room, Jess allowed the others access around the notch. It was apparent the tunnel had to change direction to follow the mother lode; the face of the pocket where tools lay and holes had been drilled for blasting was perpendicular to the course the vein was taking.

Squatting down, Jess picked up a chisel and small sledge hammer from the floor, grimacing at the pressure on his aching hand. Before he could strike the first blow, Bill Doolin took them to pass on to Mr. Li. Soon, the air rang with the sounds of everyone who could crowd into the space, including Angelique Duvalier, industriously hammering at the glittering ore. A cry of success was uttered each time some small flake of rock splintered from the impervious mountain.

After filling a canvas bag with ore dropped in the treasure seekers' frenzy to dig for more, Jess slipped out of the pocket. He left the heavy sack behind and went searching for Slim, still dragging himself slowly down the corridor. Li Zhen walked beside Slim, helping him keep his footing on the uneven rock surface; rips in the knees of Slim's pants proof he had already fallen more than once.

"You come up with a plan, Jess?" Slim asked in a whisper.

"Nope. You?" Jess replied just as softly.

Reversing their direction, the two friends forced Zhen to go with them. Snatching up two torches, keeping one in reserve, Jess steered them into the first tunnel that opened up. They hurried as fast as Slim could manage; Jess constantly scanning the passage behind them looking for pursuit. They soon came to another split and agreed to take the left hand tunnel.

Jess halted to dig in his pants pocket for Slim's knife, hidden there since Slim had found his best friend crammed in a steamer trunk.

"Plannin's your job, Slim. That's what got me this knife all ready and waitin'. Not to mention the derringer you had hidden in that ugly hat," Jess declared as he hacked at the bindings on Slim's right arm. "I just follow orders."

"Schhhure you follow orders. In a pig's eye," Slim retorted, straining to separate the weakening fabric which still held his arm tight against his body.

Finally the last threads ripped apart, and Jess shoved the jackknife into Slim's hand. "You work on the other arm." he ordered, snatching up a pick axe propped against the wall.

Jess savagely dug the point of the pick under the iron bar holding the Oregon boot tight to Slim's foot. He grunted, sweat pouring down his face as he levered all his weight against the stubborn metal, "Slim, it's not give an inch."

"Put some vinegar into it, Jess! Worry about my toes later. Won't matter if I can walk if all they're gonna do is measure me for a pine box."

Jess released his hold on the pick and used a rock to force the point further under the latch. Li Zhen stood quietly while the men struggled to remove the wickedly efficient device. When he applied pressure this time, Jess could feel it give a little; not enough to let Slim draw his foot out, but progress. Suddenly, with a loud splintering crack, the handle broke out of the pick, sending Jess sprawling.

"Leave it, Jess. Take Zhen and get outta here. They won't shoot as long as she's with you."

"Shut up, Slim! Put your head on sideways again, did ya? I've got no hankerin' to break in a new partner. Who else is crazy enough to watch my back?"

Slim cuffed Jess's shoulder, "Well, I've got too much time invested in you to go lookin' for a new hired hand."

Jess renewed his attack on the Oregon boot, using a bigger rock to hammer the pick under the iron strap.

Slim looked up with a strangled cry when Zhen tried to move away; it was his nightmare come to life. He pushed Jess to one side and started toward Gang, dragging the cumbersome boot. Jess dashed in, but Gang merely backhanded him and kept walking.

Jess felt like he had been swatted by a grizzly. He saw stars as he lurched back into the wall.

Calmly, Zhen said, "Let me go. Then Gang not harm you or fliend."

Gang didn't waver; he continued to lumber toward them. Jess grabbed hold of the pick handle but before he could swing it, Gang leaned over to seize the bar of the Oregon boot. With a mighty groan he bent it enough for Slim to slide his foot out, leaving the cowboy boot behind. When Gang reached for Li Zhen, Slim gently pushed her toward the gigantic man.

"Thank you," he called over his shoulder as Jess, limping awkwardly, holding tightly to his ribs, urged him deeper into the mine.

Doolin was waiting for them, gun drawn, at the junction to the main tunnel.

"Let us go, Bill. Li will never know the difference. You're takin' us back to be shot."

"I told you before, Harper, we're even. You saved my life, I returned the favor."

"Yeah, I guess that eases your conscience, Bill." Jess told him bitterly.

"I'd like to help you out, but I've seen what happens to them who cross Mr. Li. I want ta keep my hide in one piece a while longer."

Slim and then Jess stiffened and shifted their eyes to a point over Bill's right shoulder.

"I ain't fallin' for that old dodge, Harper. Seen you do it for real in Abilene."

The con artist they knew as the Senator held a finger to his lips to beg their silence as he took two quick steps to stand close behind Doolin. The Senator jabbed his finger into the middle of Doolin's back and told him to raise his hands.

Quickly relieving Bill of his revolver, the Senator assumed control of the group with a practiced air.

"Cynicism from one so young is hardly becoming, sir." The Senator's voice changed from a purr to a growl, "Ah, ah, ah! Keep your hands up before I blow a hole the size of Texas in your back."

Jess bristled as he realized the Senator was covering them with Bill Doolin's gun. "You were bluffing!" he accused, "You didn't have any kinda weapon on ya."

"Of course I was bluffing, Mr. Harper. But you are sadly mistaken, sir. I have the ultimate weapon at my disposal." The Senator tapped his finger against his temple.

Thinking Jess had distracted the con man, Doolin chose that moment to slam his shoulder into where the Senator should have been. But Bill Doolin made the mistake of underestimating how eager the Senator was to get his hands on the Dutchman's gold or to take his revenge on Li. He twisted to disarm the Senator but was felled by a vicious blow to the base of his skull.

Slim and Jess watched Doolin crumple to the ground. "Leave him," the Senator ordered.

Doolittle picked up the thread of conversation as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. "It takes one to know one, Mr. Harper. You were trying to bluff this ruffian into letting you and Sherman escape."

Jess was listing to one side, favoring his ankle, but Slim felt him tense and knew Jess was getting ready to attack. The Senator swept that option away when he cocked the .45 and aimed it squarely at Slim's chest.

"Sherman, unwind the bandage from Harper's wrist." Doolittle instructed.

"Why?" Jess demanded, "And where did you come from?"

"Because, Mr. Harper, I recall what an admirably rugged young man you are, and although not as well acquainted with Mr. Sherman, I have reason to believe you are two peas in a pod."

Waving his gun at Slim, Doolittle insisted, "_Now_, Mr. Sherman, I really only need one of you, so the other can be left stretched out beside Li's errand boy."

Resentfully, Jess held out his arm for Slim to remove the wrappings.

"Excellent. Leave a tail about two feet long and loop a knot around your right arm, Sherman." Doolittle waited impatiently until Slim had complied, "Start from the other end and tie Harper's hands behind him. Do it right, I will check."

"Now what?" Slim asked.

"Now, link your arm through Harper's and put your hands behind your back."

"I can't lift my left arm to get it behind my back, Senator."

"I don't believe you." Doolittle eyed the young rancher. "Why can't you move your left arm?"

"Li's guards shoved me out of the wagon and I landed on my shoulder. It's either broken or dislocated."

"Well, I'm not foolish enough to get close to you to prove the truthfulness of your words, but if I find out you're lying. . . ."

For the first time since the Senator had appeared in the corridor, he seemed undecided. Hesitating briefly, he altered his plans.

"On your knees, both of you."

Once they were kneeling, the Senator made Slim lift his left hand with his right and clasp them together. Holding the gun to Jess's head, he quickly wound the end of the bandage around Slim's wrists and knotted the end in place.

"Alright, stand up. It's time to pay that blasted Chinaman a visit."

The Senator had them halt in the passageway to watch a line of men carrying sacks of ore toward the mouth of the mine, others returning with empty packs. Jess bumped Slim's arm when he saw Mort Cory, toting an empty bag, disappear into the tunnel which ended at the mother lode.

Holding on to Jess's bound hands, the Senator guided them forward until he could see Li sitting at the edge of the chamber. Doolittle aimed between his prisoners and shot out the lantern hanging over Li's head.

Reactions were almost a parody of surprise. The guards brought their rifles to bear on the trio; Li Zong ducked as glass cascaded around him. The Duvaliers were already sitting down, but Angelique and the workers carrying ore back and forth from the mine threw themselves to the ground.

"Nobody move!" Doolittle shouted, training his gun on the corpulent Chinese leader. "Li, you're a dead man if any shots are fired."

Using his prisoners as a shield, Doolittle pushed them in front of him until they all stood beside Li's chair. Quickly threatening Li with the pistol jammed into his back, Doolittle forced his captives to their knees and then had Sherman lower his friend onto his stomach. They were tied so closely together, Slim went down too as Jess, cursing, landed flat on the rough stones.

With a wolfish gleam, Doolittle hissed in Li Zong's ear, "I have a business proposition for you, Li. And rest assured, any offer I make will be preferable to the alternative."

Attempting to hide his astonishment and fear, Li blustered, "You cannot hope to overcome all my men. Surrender now and I will let you go when we have mined all the gold we can carry."

Doolittle chuckled, grinding the barrel of the revolver into the folds of flesh under Li's chin, "I don't have to overcome all your men, only you. You value your skin too well. You'll do anything I say to keep me from ending your worthless life."

While the Senator and Li continued to argue, sounds of a scuffle exploded from the passage leading to the entrance. Scattered gunfire echoed hollowly from outside and running footsteps pounded down the passage. The line of men carrying ore from the side tunnel ceased as an array of rifles blossomed around the opening.

Jess quietly asked Slim if he could reach the pocket knife they had used to free Slim's arms.

Slim whispered back, "I've got it outta my pocket, but Li and the Senator are too unpredictable for me to move very fast."

Eyeing his partner, Jess acerbically inquired, "Slim, don't cha think this might be one time to take to the tall timbers?"

"Then turn on your side to give me some slack," Slim shot back, as he hurriedly braced the knife between his hands and pried open the blade.

Hoarse, raucous gabbling accompanied the flutter and rustle of hundreds of wings erupting from one of the tunnels. Disturbed from their slumber by Sam Peck, bats dipped and swooped trying to escape the lights.

They continued to pour into the cavernous room by the thousands, crying to orient themselves and diving close to the ground or attempting to cling to the ceiling. The sharp crack of a Winchester upset them and bats took to the air again, spreading pandemonium over the chaotic scene.

"Slim, over here." Sam Peck whispered, the sound distorted and thrown back from a hundred different directions.

Slim pulled Jess to his feet. Crouching low, they joined the marshal and Bunk Purcell at the mouth of one of the tunnels.

Retrieving the derringer from his boot, Jess fired twice at one of Li's guards who was sighting in on Purcell, dropping the man with his second shot.

Purcell's long gun spoke and another lantern shattered. Not waiting for anyone to recover, the rifleman shot again and again scattering flaming torches and blasting lanterns into tinkling splinters of glass and metal. Bunk's final bullet separated Windy Doolittle from his revolver.

When his deputy began his covering fire, Marshal Peck darted along the circumference of the room and soon collared both Li and Doolittle. From the corridor leading to the outside, a voice called out, "Marshal Peck, we have the area secured."

Sam Peck hastily shouted, "Good job, Rolly. Hold where you are until we're locked down in here."

Mort Cory and Rick Delgado cautiously stuck their heads out of the passage leading to the gold.

"Everybody's corralled here, Sam," Delgado reported.

"Is that a figure of speech, Rick?"

"No, we've got 'em hemmed in by guards with orders to shoot."

"That works." Peck agreed.

Marshal Peck forced Li and Doolittle to stand to one side while Sheriff Cory and Delgado led small groups of Oriental men to the entrance corridor and handed them over to Rolly Stevens and Joe Smiley. Theo Jenkins followed the last of their prisoners out of sight while Lieutenant Roqueville escorted the Duvaliers, one arm clasped possessively around Angelique.

Within a half hour, only Li Zong, Wen Zhongcheng, Marion Doolittle, Slim Sherman and Jess Harper were left inside the mine with the lawmen who had made good their rescue.

Jess and Slim exchanged a grin; for the first time since the ordeal had begun they stood together unrestrained.

"Sam, you certainly know how to make an entrance," Slim said.

"You complainin', Sherman?"

"No, Sam. We're mighty glad to see you."

"That's better. Now introduce me to your friend."

"Sorry. Sam Peck, this is my partner, Jess Harper."

Jess limped forward, transferring the derringer to his left hand, to shake hands. "Pleased to meet you, Marshal. Slim's told me a lot about you."

"He exaggerates, but you know that don't cha, Harper?"

With a crooked grin and sideways glance at Slim, Jess winked, "Can't hardly tell the truth."

Mort cleared his throat loudly, "Save it for later, Sam. Let's find out what we can charge these three with." He nodded toward the men who stood glaring at one another under the watchful eyes of Rick Delgado and Bunk Purcell.

"Kidnapping." Jess replied, "Robbery and attempted murder." He threatened them with the derringer, "I oughta render ya both for lard!"

"Claim jumping." Slim added heatedly.

Li, Wen and Doolittle reacted to that charge with indignant cries.

"The mine has been hidden for years, waiting for the first treasure hunter who could find it." Wen spluttered, "Mr. Li is within his rights to seize the gold."

Li turned on Wen. Whatever Li said in Chinese caused Wen to take two steps backward and stand silently, head bowed, behind his benefactor.

"I have a better claim than anyone," Doolittle exclaimed. "I found the map and notes and realized _where_ the Lost Dutchman was hiding. All those fools who have been searching in Arizona had it completely wrong."

Li Zong declared, "I financed this expedition. I should be reimbursed for my expenses and I have been forced to live in primitive conditions to uncover the mine you were supposed to find."

Doolittle retaliated, "Your thugs tried to stretch me three inches taller on a medieval rack. It was torture, pure and simple."

"We were partners before you took my money and disappeared."

"The Dutchman would still be lost if not for my efforts, so my claim is the strongest. The gold is undoubtedly mine, but I am willing to offer you each a small share, just to show how generous I can be." The Senator began slowly edging toward one of the corridors leading from the central cavern.

Slim raised his voice to override their argument. "Neither one of you has a right to the Lost Dutchman. I filed a legal claim in Cheyenne, before I started after Angelique Duvalier."

An eerie hush followed Slim's announcement, broken only by the flurry of bats clinging overhead.

"If anything happens to me, it passes jointly to Jess and my brother. If both Jess and myself are dead, Andy Sherman and the town of Laramie inherit the claim and any future gold mined from it. There's four copies of my will; witnessed, signed, sealed and delivered."

"Well, gentlemen, I'd say Mr. Sherman has a-hold of the jerk line. We can settle the rest outside in fresh air," Marshal Peck informed them.

Li Zong had gone pale and he staggered back against the wall. His disappointment and anger knew no bounds. He had _never_ been bested in a fight; dozens of paid assassins made sure his enemies - he had no friends - could not interfere in his plans.

Something rolled beneath his foot and Li looked down to see what he was standing on. Sherman's voice roared in his head, _'. . .I will warn everybody not to touch anything you don't recognize. There's bound to be more snares. . . .'_

A slender chain, ending in a brass ring, snaked across the stones, disappearing into the gloom. Bending quickly, Li yanked on the chain as hard as he could.

Cold water rippled over Jess's boots. His eyes followed the trickle as it widened from a hand's breadth to spread across the uneven floor, deeper water from the entrance passage splashing onto the walls as it careened into the cavern. Small rills and little waves were being ushered across the uneven flooring, unerringly seeking to pool at the lowest point. Jess pulled on Slim's arm, but he never noticed.

"All your lies and deceit, torture. . . your threats, your money, will never get you a clear title to this mine," Slim burst out. He hissed, "I've won, Li. You were only after gold. I've been fighting for our lives."

Slim and Li were locked in a battle of wills; it was as though there was no one else in the world.

Slim's eyes were daggers of blue ice, "I was taught to never, ever give up without a fight. My Pa started that teachin' and Jess Harper finished the lesson. Don't call retreat until you've drawn your last breath!"

Li Zong drew a small revolver from his robes and pointed it at Slim, but Jess threw the derringer at Li, spoiling his aim. He grabbed Slim's arm and the two of them scooted into one of the tunnels. Li pulled the trigger wildly, bullets ricocheting from walls and ceiling. Peck forced Li's arm over his head and held him until the gun clicked on an empty chamber.

There was a shout from the entrance, barely heard over the rush of water cascading into the cavern. The trickle of water which had washed over their feet was now up to their knees and rising.

The friends looked at each other in dismay. "Think I know what that river symbol was for," Jess said grimly.

**Chapter 46 A man to Ride the River With**

Slim's fingers clawed toward Jess's hand, blindly groping through the rushing flood searching for something, anything, to find a lifeline, some buoy or anchor to help him escape the flood waters. He had been tossed like so much flotsam against the jagged rocks and eddied into a vortex of swirling foam mauling everything in its path and then spewing it all out again, waves cresting higher with each successive surge.

Slim released his grip for a second to get a better purchase, to grab Jess's wrist, finally locking his hand around Jess's arm. Shouting to be heard over the noisy waters, Slim yelled, "Hang on, Jess, we've gotta get out of this dead end tunnel. It's gonna fill completely up with water.

Slim yanked hard and with a loud sucking noise the maelstrom released its hold and the two men battled their way back through the swelling, circling waters. Somewhere behind them, they could hear Mort Cory and Sam Peck crying their names. A dim glow from the torches reflected the rushing water, but as they watched, the lights winked out one by one. There was a roar and a wall of liquid drenched them before receding.

Slim shouted, "Jess, there's no way we can go back. There's another entrance. We'll have to let the current carry us through the mine. If we get separated, try to stay in the main passage. We'll drown if we get caught in one of the side tunnels."

Jess nodded his understanding.

They locked hands on each other's arms and Slim offered Jess a grim smile, "Ready?"

Jess gave him back an answering grin, "Ready! But remember I ain't a fish, all the swimmin' I know is what Andy's learned me."

Taking a deep breath, they reached for the reckless courage with which they faced every predicament, and plunged into the flood, letting the water sweep them around a bend, both struggling to keep their heads above water and not lose their hold on each other. Lights flickered ahead of them for a time but grew fewer as the deluge gushed higher.

His lighter weight let him ride higher in the water, but also made it harder for Jess to withstand the forces trying to smash them against the stone walls. He was flung from side to side, using his legs and free hand to push off and try to protect Slim from being slammed into the sides.

Slim used his long legs to their advantage, fending off sharp rocks and dizzying corners they approached at breakneck speed.

Tossed like a leaf, Jess nearly lost his head when the waves carried them too close to a shelf hanging down from the ceiling. Only Slim's intervention kept him from being smashed against the bulging outcrop. As it was, the sharp stones laid open a jagged gash on Slim's cheek.

"Told you there wasn't time to break in a new partner." Jess gasped.

The last of the torches were behind them now, the faint orange glow snuffed out as they were tossed around another sharp bend. Jess groaned as his back struck hard against the side. In the utter blackness, he realized he had no idea where the twists and turns of the mine would take them so instead of pushing off, he hugged close and let the torrent scrape them both along the stone wall.

It seemed like hours they had been struggling to stay afloat and when his overworked muscles began to cramp, Jess realized they were close to losing their battle.

Fighting the surging flood with everything he had, Jess held his breath to duck beneath the turbulent waters and pull Slim back to the surface when the powerful current threatened to send them both to a watery grave. He'd not let them become more fodder for the Lost Dutchman legend.

Flailing one-handed, Jess broke the surface, winded, gulping precious oxygen. He held Slim against his chest, Slim's head rolling loosely on his shoulders. Jess struggled to flip him around and forced Slim to cough up the water he had swallowed.

Time was strangely distorted in the absolute darkness, but Jess eventually sensed a lightening of the stygian depths accompanying their watery hell. He could see the pale oval of Slim's face and the blur of their locked arms. "There's the best gold, Slim, sunshine."

Breathlessly, Slim agreed, "Daylight never looked so good, Pard."

The raging water continued to pull at them from every conceivable angle, surging forward and then sucking them back as the rushing flood raced to fill every crevice and offshoot of the mine.

Finally, they were flung like so much rubbish against a fall of rock which nearly blocked the end of the tunnel, yanked around until Jess thought he couldn't hold on to Slim – or stay conscious – any longer.

Panting heavily, his breath whistling harshly through clenched teeth, Slim Sherman frantically demanded a miracle. He kicked at the pile of rocks, dislodging a few to careen loudly down the outside of the rubble. _'We're too close to fail now. Please, Lord, we can see the promised land!'_

They had been heaved against a wall of boulders, obviously fallen at some time in the last two decades. The waters had receded, sucking against their backs but gradually dropping to lap around their knees. Jess was desperately digging at the rocks, rolling them haphazardly down the awkward slope and climbing higher as the tunnel brightened with his efforts.

"Slim, I know your arm ain't workin', but if we can't widen this hole till it's big enough to crawl through, we're gonna die here and we ain't through livin' yet."

Bracing himself against the roof, Slim placed both feet behind the rock and setting his jaw against the pain, pushed as hard as he could. If the one boulder could be rolled out of the way, it would carry a pile of smaller debris with it. Jess was on the opposite side, raking gravel from beneath the rock with both hands.

Suddenly a roar louder than anything they had heard all day erupted behind them. They glanced at one another and redoubled their efforts, straining to dislodge the linchpin. Water surged against the barrier, unknowingly aiding the partners when it sucked gravel from the entire length as it retreated. Jess scrambled to the top of the scree and placed his boots against the stone.

"Once more, Pard!"

With a shout they kicked hard at the obstinate talus and the whole structure began to shift. A blast of chilly, moisture laden air preceded the huge wave filling the tunnel. Slim prayed again for a miracle as the massive swell slammed into them.

The two friends lay on the rocky bank of what had become a good sized stream. Spray sparkled in the sun as water roared down the steep ravine, gurgling to itself after being freed from its long confinement in the dark mine.

Jess lay on his back, arms outflung, eyes closed, dark ringlets plastered to his forehead as water pooled under his head. Slim was on his belly, one foot still in the creek. Deep red tendrils trickled from his sock to mix in the rushing torrent. He pushed himself up on his good elbow, head hanging as water dripped off his nose and soaked hair.

"You alright?"

"I'm fine."

"Liar!"

Wheezing slightly, Jess asked in return, "_You_ alright?"

Slim coughed a couple of times before looking over at his partner, "Yeah, I'll make it."

Jess turned his head and opened his eyes, "You don't look so good, Pard."

"That's the pot callin' the kettle black."

"Still looks like you got the worst of it."

"You looked in a mirror lately, Jess?"

Slim had no shirt; his chest and back were covered with cuts and scrapes and dark bruises were beginning to show everywhere. One foot was bare, the other covered by a frayed, blood soaked sock. An arm revealed a long wicked scratch, the other elbow sported a painful looking goose egg turning black as Jess's hat. His left eye was gonna flaunt a beauty of a shiner and blood oozed along the cheekbone.

Jess didn't look any better; the back of his shirt was mostly tatters, his jeans were ripped down one thigh and the knees were shredded. Both hands were battered; Li Zhen's bandage hung in loose, soggy folds, stained pink from his leaking wounds. Jess's fingers were bloody where he had torn them clearing the rock fall blocking the last of the tunnel. His face had new bruises from slamming into boulders or tunnel walls, one eye was swollen shut, the other almost as bad and he had his own unique collection of scrapes and welts.

"Slim, I always said you were a man to ride the river with, but next time, let's make sure we've got ourselves a boat, huh?"

Chuckling, Slim shook his head and turned over on his side, "Or a canoe? Even a raft woulda looked good today."

Slim's long slender fingers gently slid across Jess's ribs, netting him a hiss and not so gentle shove from his partner.

"You can stop that anytime!"

"Ease up, Jess. Let me take a look. I saw the way you were holding your side when the Senator was ranting there at the last. Do you think Gang broke a rib—or two?"

"Nah, think they're only bent a little." Jess played his hole card, "Let's go home."

Nodding, Slim agreed, knowing his stubborn friend could keep going now on sheer willpower.

"Come on, Hotshot, Sam Peck and his deputies can round up all the bad men."

They wearily helped each other to stand. Jess hooked his fingers through Slim's belt loops and steadied him till Slim, groaning, could brace one hand in his pocket and drape his other arm across Jess's shoulders.

Jess unfastened all but the last two buttons on his shirt and slid his hand in to cradle sore ribs. His boots squished wetly but he dared not take them off, knowing he would never be able to force the stiff leather back over his swollen ankle.

They limped downstream, Slim wincing as he gingerly picked his way over the rocky ground. One pants leg was flapping, split from cuff to knee, a trail of bloody footprints snaking crookedly behind them.

"Say, Jess. . .when we got to Cheyenne, I was dry as powder. . ."

"And I was hungry enough to eat the ears off a runnin' mule. _You_ were supposed to buy _me_ the biggest steak in town."

As they drew away from the creek bank, their voices floated back on the breeze.

"Yeah, but you never did get me that beer. If you hadn't followed that girl. . ."

"Awww, Slim! No fair."

**Chapter 47 Loose Ends**

"Hurry up, Slim. Ever'body will be here pretty soon."

"I'm tryin', Jess. Just not moving very fast this morning."

"Well, all you have to do is turn that spit to make sure dinner don't burn. It only takes the one hand."

Slim cautiously lowered himself to sit on an upturned crate beside the forge where Jess had rigged a crank with five chickens spitted for barbequing. He propped one foot on a smaller box Jess had obligingly set up for his convenience.

It had been somewhat over two weeks since they had washed up on the banks of the newly formed—and named-Lost Dutchman Creek high in the Laramie Range somewhere north of Cheyenne and southwest of Resurrection Pass.

George Ellison, editor of the Laramie Gazette, had worried Slim to the point of distraction asking for details of what had happened to Jess Harper and why the Sherman Ranch now sported a new spring wagon, a new cook stove, and a new Hereford bull.

There were so many questions, Slim had asked Mr. Ellison to come for lunch and share a meal with all those involved in the rescue. Even he and Jess hadn't heard the final details.

Jess appeared with a stack of plates, "Boy, Slim,that Jacques is quite a cook. He's got food lined up on the cook top, in the oven, and there's a whole row of pies coverin' the kitchen table."

"Just in time. Here comes Mort and Mr. Ellison; Lars and Mose are right behind 'em."

Slim shaded his eyes with a raised hand as he looked toward the ridge on the Cheyenne road, "Looks like Marshal Raines and his deputies are riding in with Sam and his crew."

After handshakes and bear hugs and a fair amount of back slappin', the men sat down in the shade of the barn's lean-to to do justice to the feast the Duvaliers' former chef had prepared. When appetites had been satisfied to the point of conversation developin', Slim stood up.

"We asked everybody here today to thank you for your help in rescuing my partner. . ."

"And you," Jess interrupted.

"And me," Slim acknowledged, "I promised Mr. Ellison, editor of the Laramie Gazette, an exclusive story if he would not breathe a word about an advertisement I asked him to print. I was hoping that ad would lead me to the people who had kidnapped Jess. Mr. Ellison could have jeopardized everything if he had told who placed the ad and revealed the other things I asked him to keep quiet."

"None of us knows the whole story, so we want to put the pieces together here today," Jess added. "I guess I'll start, and then hand off to Slim, 'cause I was drugged and passed out cold while he searched for my sorry hide."

Mort chuckled, "George, get your pencil ready. You're about to hear a real hair-raisin' tale. I lived through part of it and I'm not sure I believe it all even now."

Jess told about carrying Angel Duvall's bags to her hotel room and then Slim took up the story. "I saw a flash of metal on the floor of the Duvall woman's room, and picked it up, hidden in my glove. That was my first clue. . ."

"Say, by the way, where _is_ my lucky dollar?" Jess demanded.

Slim shrugged, "I left it in the pocket of my vest."

They both turned to Lars Svenson who sat with a startled look on his face, "I don't know anything about a two-headed dollar, Slim. Honest, Jess!" Lars had no itch to get on Jess Harper's bad side.

Lars began thinking out loud, "The only time I needed any money while you were gone, Slim, I got it out of the cash you left in the desk. Except. . ." He snapped his fingers, "When I had to ante up while Mose and me were playin' euchre."

All eyes turned on the grizzled driver, who was looking any direction except toward Jess. "Now, Jess, I didn't realize it was yers until after I used it to pay for a couple a beers. Waldo discovered it had two-heads but he wouldn't let me cash it out. He's been usin' it to win bets agin ever' new cow waddy who wanders into the saloon."

Everybody, including Jess, laughed, "We'll go see Waldo together, Mose. Bet he won't win nothin' more with my dollar after that."

Thad Raines took his turn to describe how Angelique Duvalier and her father had arrived in Cheyenne. That led Sheriff Cory to ask what was going to happen to the Duvaliers for their part in kidnapping Jess.

Sam Peck answered, "Seems they have somethin' called _'diplomatic immunity'_, Mort. The governor sent his personal assistant to plead their case. They were asked to leave Wyoming Territory, but no punishment for either of them."

"I just don't understand what Alain Roqueville sees in that little tart!" Rolly Stevens exclaimed, "He forgives everything she does, and spends half his life makin' excuses for her."

"Lieutenant Roqueville is a good man. Just seems a mite misguided where Angelique is concerned." Sam exchanged a look with Mort Cory. "We both thought the springs on the Duvalier coach were ridin' a bit low when we left the Lost Dutchman, but I didn't want to be the one to accuse a lady of Miss Duvalier's caliber of purloinin' goods which did not belong to her."

Marshal Raines snorted, "They headed east about a week ago, so I figure we'll be seein' posters out on Miss Duvalier shortly." With a sly look in Jess's direction, he poked Slim in the ribs, "Or maybe she'll be usin' the alias _'Angel Duvall'_."

When the laughter had died down and the ruddy stain faded from Jess's cheeks, Marshal Raines, Joe Smiley and Theo Jenkins took turns explaining how they had kept an eye on the Duvaliers. Sam, Rick, and Rolly described capturing Marion Wyndham Doolittle and Sam's plan to join up with Mr. Li.

They left Slim to tell about his attempt to rescue Jess. And Jess to explain how they both were captured.

George Ellison had given up trying to keep notes. If he took time to write, he lost some part of the story and had to ask them to repeat it. So, he finally leaned back and crossed his hands over his full belly to enjoy the tale. He figured Slim or Jess or Mort could fill in any details he missed.

Jacques announced dessert was served, thick slices of pie in a half-dozen flavors; everybody lent a hand to clear the dishes and pour fresh coffee before settling down to hear the rest of the story.

Jess's next question was for Purcell, "Bunk, how'd you get inside the Lost Dutchman before the door was opened?"

"I heard you all talkin' about the bats and I figured if they could fly outta the mine, I might be able to climb inside the same way. I waited till it got dark and then boosted myself up on top of that big wall of rock."

With a hang-dog look, Purcell continued, "When the moanin' started, it spooked me bad, but I follered the sound and found a hole where some of the bats flew out. The stink of the bat shit 'bout did me in, purely set my eyes to waterin', but I scurried back into one of the tunnels and waited to see who showed up."

"Bunk, we're purely grateful you found your way inside," Jess chuckled. "And that you survived the stink."

"Sam, I have a question," Slim said, "Why did you bring the Senator with you. Why not leave him in the Cheyenne jail?"

"Well, Slim, Windy Doolittle, the one you call the Senator, is slippery as an eel. Me and the boys have had run-ins with him two or three times before and he always manages to evade the long arm of the law."

Peck rubbed at his neck, "I figured Thad's deputies would be like lambs to the slaughter if I left Doolittle behind. And with him along, I wouldn't have to worry about when he might show up unexpected like. The one thing I didn't figure on was him escapin' from the coach, but I wasn't too surprised to see him in the mine."

"Sam, what's gonna happen to the Senator and Bill Doolin and Li Zhen and Wen and Gang and all the others?" Mort asked.

"Windy Doolittle disappeared. We don't know if he made it out of the mine or not. He ran back into one of the corridors when the water started gushin' so strong. He might've been trapped in one of them side passages, but I'm bettin' he got away. Like I said, he's slippery as an eel. And I'll wager he didn't leave empty-handed."

Bunk broke in, "I heard Windy before any light from the entrance reflected back in the tunnel where I was hidin', and he had a lantern, so he musta known some secret way to get inside."

Sam motioned for Purcell to carry on, "At the end, after Sam and I met up, I carried Doolin, he was out like a light from where ole' Windy had bashed his head, to the mouth of that passageway where we was hidin', and we got him out before the water got too deep. He's in jail in Denver, waitin' for extradition to California. If he can be connected to any a them murders Roqueville told us about, he'll be charged."

"Thad, you tell us about the Chinese," Peck asked.

"Li Zhen and Gang and any of the rest who wanted to go along, left last Tuesday for Sacramento. Zhen has access to Li Zong's property and money so she'll make sure everybody is taken care of. She's gonna arrange for any of Li Zong's retainers who want to go back to China to book passage on a clipper ship out of 'Frisco."

Raines paused, "Duan, along with his wife and mother, decided to stay in Cheyenne to open a laundry. Two other families are sticking around to try their hand at farming."

Soberly, Mort took up the story, "Wen never made it back to Cheyenne. He wouldn't leave Mr. Li and Li wouldn't leave the totes full of gold. We got Wen out, but he had taken in too much water, and was too banged up from bein' slammed into that barrier near the entrance of the mine. The bag of ore Li Zong was draggin' got tangled in the same fencing. He drowned tryin' to get it loose."

The resulting silence was broken when George Ellison handed Slim a large leather wallet. "Slim, here's the package you asked me to hold. I figure it's time to return it to you. But I am curious as to what I've been safeguarding."

Glancing around the table at their friends, Slim slowly untied the leather thongs holding the wallet closed. "There was a letter for you, George, with instructions to check with the assay office in Cheyenne for the location of the Lost Dutchman Mine. And telling how to get in touch with Jonesy and Andy in St. Louis."

Taking a deep breath, Slim continued, "This is my last will and testament, leaving the Sherman Ranch and the Lost Dutchman Mine to Jess and Andy in the event of my death. Andy and the town of Laramie would inherit the mine if Jess and I had both been killed." Slim hurried on, his voice rough, "At the time, I thought there was a good possibility that either Jess or myself, maybe both of us, wouldn't live to get home."

Slim turned away, shoulders hunched. He raised his arm and shook a thick sheet of parchment. "This is the treasure map Li sent for me to solve. Jess's kidnapping, my capture, the lives lost, the fear, the pain, all the hell you–and we—went through were for Li to finance his crazy dream."

Swinging back to face his friends, Slim grimaced, "Li talked constantly and he mostly talked about creating a glorious new Tang dynasty in America to rival the one his ancestors carved out in China a thousand years ago. With Li as emperor, of course. That's why he needed the gold, unlimited wealth to finance his campaign to conquer the territories from the Mississippi to the Pacific. He thought with enough money he could buy an army of mercenaries to fight the United States cavalry.

Quietly, Slim added, "We've told you how Li thought conquered peoples should be treated."

He showed them another envelope, "The last letter was for Andy, but looks like I don't need it now." He quietly tucked the papers back inside the wallet.

Jess laid his hand on Slim's shoulder and left it there. There were still things left unvoiced between them. Their scrapes and bruises were healing, but on the inside, nerve endings were still raw; those hadn't yet begun to scab over. Little matters had been taken care of, but the big important issues still hung over them. There were some things Jess might never share with his best friend, and he figured the same was true for Slim. But they had lots of tomorrows ahead; time and talk would take care of their unseen wounds.

Giving himself a shake, Slim brightened, "George, I know you're about to pop your vest buttons to ask about the Lost Dutchman. I did stake a legal claim, including mineral rights. The gold Sheriff Cory and the marshals carried back is responsible for that new wagon and stove and the new bull."

Unable to resist, Sam Peck chimed in, "Sure is a lot of bull, Slim!" as comforting laughter erupted around them.

"Right now, we have very good credit at the bank. Mr. Crawford is always glad to see us and that hasn't always been the case." Slim laughed. "We carried enough gold ore home in Li's wagons to put aside a small nest egg, pay off the note on the ranch and cover Andy's tuition in St. Louis for the next four years."

"That's the good news," Jess added. "The bad news is we have to divert the water inside the mine before we can start diggin' again. The engineer we hired don't have any idea how to clear the water out of the Lost Dutchman. He can't even figure out where the water's comin' from. He thinks it's an underground river but there's no creek or stream anywhere nearby.

"I've sent Andy a wire tellin' him he needs to study engineering so he can get us back inside the mine," Slim put in dryly.

The men talked until late in the afternoon, adding details as they thought of them, joshing to cover the depths of their relief everybody had come through the ordeal relatively intact.

Sheriff Cory and Mr. Ellison, needing to return to Laramie, headed out before dusk. The others rearranged themselves, and relaxed for more story-telling, sharing other adventures.

Bunk Purcell was the first to seek his bed. He got quite a ribbing from Rick and Rolly, but mildly replied, "I'd rather get some shut-eye than listen to ya tellin' each other lies." He tipped his hat, "Slim, Jess, Sam, see ya in the mornin'." Yawning, he headed for the bunkhouse.

As soon as he was out of sight, Rick eagerly turned to Slim. "Care if Rolly and me christen your new wagon? We won't hurt it none, and Sam can tell you how sound Bunk sleeps."

Both Jess and Slim nodded their permission.

Rolly added, "We'll give it back in apple-pie order and make sure you all have a front-row seat."

All the men listened closely as Sam Peck, a born storyteller, related how Nathan Oliver Purcell got his nickname.

Dawn found Thad, Joe, Theo, Jess, Slim, Lars, Mose and Marshal Peck each claiming a seat on the hay bales stacked inside the barn corral. Rolly Stevens and Rick Delgado brought out coffee and Jacques Navarre handed around fluffy, mile-high biscuits stacked with sausage or ham.

Swaddled in blankets, his head pillowed on an arm, Bunk lay in the bed of the Sherman Ranch's new wagon, thoughtfully backed up to the lip of the horse trough by Marshal Peck's other deputies. He was quite near the edge of the lowered tailgate.

Conversation lagged as Purcell scratched, stretched and rolled over.

\- Fini –

LilaLee

lilalee0526

June 2013 ~ March, 2015

**END NOTES:**

Chinese Translations

baomu = nursemaid

Duan = lack, shortage

Hong Guang = red light

kaishi = begin

muqui = mother

qizi = wife

tingzhi = stop

Wuqing = merciless, cruel, ruthless, brutal

Zhen = precious

Zhongcheng = loyal and sincere

Zong = ancestor, historical name; son of Laozi who was founder of Taoism

zhifu ta = subdue him

French Translations

c'est vrai = It's true

J'ai vu l'or = I saw the gold

ma petite chou = literally, "my little cabbage", term of endearment

oui, je parle Français = Yes, I speak French

s'il vous plait = Please

tête à tête = literally, "head to head", used for intimate meeting

_très fâché_ = Very angry

The complete Edgar Allan Poe poem first published in April, 1849:

**Eldorado**

_Gaily bedight,  
__A gallant knight,  
__In sunshine and in shadow,  
__Had journeyed long,  
__Singing a song,  
__In search of Eldorado.__  
_

_But he grew old—  
__This knight so bold—  
__And o'er his heart a shadow—  
__Fell as he found  
__No spot of ground  
__That looked like Eldorado.__  
_

_And, as his strength  
__Failed him at length,  
__He met a pilgrim shadow—  
_'_Shadow,' said he,  
_'_Where can it be—  
__This land of Eldorado?'__  
_

'_Over the Mountains  
__Of the Moon,  
__Down the Valley of the Shadow,  
__Ride, boldly ride,'  
__The shade replied,—  
_'_If you seek for Eldorado!'__  
_

-Edgar Allan Poe

**FYI:**

There really is an Arizona Mine # 1 and # 2 in the Laramie Range.

Albertson is a Dutch surname from the 19th century.

The Cheyenne street names are accurate; Frontier Street had numerous saloons.

The Plains Hotel was a luxury hotel in Cheyenne, Wyoming, but it wasn't built until 1910.

Melted wax was used to seal letters, gummed envelopes were invented in 1859, but did not become commercially viable until 20 years later. My point is the elaborate "D" was unusual.

There is a geode drift in the mountains of Wyoming, but I do not know if they are associated with gold or silver veins; it sounded good as I was developing the story ideas There is an area of Kentucky called The Knobs, where geodes are found scattered over the surface of the soil, and they have multi-colored crystals inside.

My Mom's maiden name is Doolin, and the Dalton/Doolin gang members are supposed to be distant cousins. My grandmother lived on the farm next to Jesse and Frank James's family. My grandmother remembered Mrs. James, Jesse and Frank's mother, as a kind, God-fearing woman, always helping her neighbors.

Family lore holds the Stetson hat was originally the Doolin hat and my ancestors lost the rights in a card game; knowing some of the relatives, it is probably true. I have seen an advertisement for the Doolin hat.

Fort Russell became Warren AFB. It is right outside Cheyenne.

Sherman Hill is the highest point on the original route of the Transcontinental Railroad. There was a town named Sherman, Wyoming, which served the workers laying track for the railroad. Historical markers and a cemetery mark the spot. It was not named for Slim Sherman's family, of course, more's the pity. General William Tecumseh Sherman had it named for himself.

The Tang Dynasty was established by the Li family in 618 AD, in power for almost 300 years.

"Karst" is the geological term for the type of land around the Lost Dutchman Mine. Ground water seeps into layers of soluble stone and hollows out caves and sink holes.

There is a state owned gold mine in Colorado which allows tourists to dig for gold from a vein five feet wide.

The names of 55 Western TV series or mini-series are embedded in _Resurrection Bluff_. It came about by accident. As I was writing the paragraphs where the Senator tells Kinsey they will have a "Bonanza" of wealth, I realized there were several series names already in the story, as a matter of word usage. After that point, I intentionally added series as the story progressed and the situation allowed for it to happen. The names and pages are listed below:

**Year Series Actors**

1955 Cheyenne- Clint Walker

1955 Frontier- Anthology

**1959, Laramie- John Smith, Robert Fuller**

1959 Rawhide- Eric Fleming, Clint Eastwood

1959 The Deputy- Henry Fonda, Allen Case, Read Morgan

1959 Black Saddle- Rory Calhoun

2001 Ponderosa- Drew Powell, Matt Carmody

1959 Pony Express- Grant Sullivan

1957 Tales of Wells Fargo- Dale Robertson

1958 Wanted Dead or Alive- Steve McQueen

1958 Frontier Justice- Anthology

1960 The Tall Man- Barry Sullivan, Clu Gulager

1960 The Outlaws- Don Collier, Baron MacLance, Bruce Yarnell, Slim Pickens

1958 The Lawman- Peter Brown, John Russell

1957 Maverick- James Garner, Jack Kelly

1965 Loner- Lloyd Bridges

1959 Wichita Town- Joel McCrea, Jody McCrea

1966 Iron Horse- Dale Robertson

1986 Outlaws- Rod Taylor, William Lucking, Richard Roundtree

1955 Gunsmoke- James Arness, Amanda Blake, Ken Curtis, Buck Taylor

1958 Buckskin- Tommy Nolan, Sally Brophy, Mike Road

1961 Gunslinger- Tony Young

1959 Bonanza- Lorne Green, Pernell Roberts, Dan Blocker, Michael Landon

1965 Big Valley- Barbara Stanwyck, Peter Breck, Richard Long, Lee Majors, Linda Evans

1955 Fury- Peter Graves, Bobby Diamond, William Farley

1957 Restless Gun- John Payne

1958 **Cimarron City-** **John Smith**, George Montgomery, Audrey Totter

1965 Laredo- Peter Brown, Michael Smith, Neville Brand

1989 Border Town- Richard Comar, John H. Brennan, Sophie Barjac

1974 The Cowboys- Moses Gunn, Diana Douglas, Jim Davis, A Martinez

1963 Dakotas- Larry Ward, Jack Elam, Chad Everett, Michael Greene

1960 Overland Trail- William Bendix, Doug McClure

1957 26 Men- Kelo Henderson, Tristram Coffin

1957 **Wagon Train-** Ward Bond, Robert Horton, John McIntyre, Robert Fuller

1962 The Virginian- James Drury, Doug McClure, Clu Gulager

1957 Colt .45- Wade Preston, Donald May

1958 Rough Riders- Kent Taylor, Jan Merlin, Peter Whitney

1960 Stagecoach West- Richard Eyer, Robert Bray, Wayne Rogers, James Burke

1958 Union Pacific- Jeff Morrow, Judson Pratt, Susan Cummings

1958 Northwest Passage- Keith Larson, Buddy Epson, Don Burnett

1957 The Californians- Adam Kennedy

1959 The Rebel- Nick Adams

1958 The Texan- Rory Calhoun

1960 The Wrangler- Jason Evers

1988 Paradise- Lee Horsley, Sigrid Thornton

1966 The Road West- Barry Sullivan, Andrew Prine, Brenda Scott

1965 Branded- Chuck Conners

1966 The Hero- Richard Mulligan, Mariette Hartley, Victor French

1995 Legend- Richard Dean Anderson, John de Lancie, Mark Adair-Rios

1983 Five Mile Creek- Louise Claire Clark, Jay Kerr, Rod Mullinar

2005 Into the West- Joseph M. Marshall, Irene Bedard, Christian Kane

1977 The Oregon Trail- Rod Taylor

1957 Man Without a Gun- Rex Reason, Mort Mills

1968 Lancer- Andrew Duggan, Wayne Maunder, James Stacey

1958 The Rifleman- Chuck Connors, Johnny Crawford


End file.
